


666

by Maiden_of_the_Moon



Series: Bicentennial Series [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Drama, Family Drama, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 18:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_the_Moon/pseuds/Maiden_of_the_Moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>6 months, 6 weeks, and 6 days. A collection of related "Bicentennial" one-shots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return

**Disclaimer:** I gots nothin'.

**Author's Note:** I probably shouldn't write this. That is, I know many people feel very strongly about… this issue…, particularly in this 'verse. And on top of that, this takes place so far in the future, it's probably gonna read as OOC, even in Bi-terms. **(Before this story, for example, I should write the "Angel arc," where Sebastian and Ciel take care of an abandoned baby angel left on their doorstep. Angel is eventually adopted by Will and Grelle.** …hey, look, now I don't need to write it, anymore. :'D)

So yeah. I really shouldn't indulge myself like this. But I'm gonna anyway. 3 And if you don't want to consider it Bi-canon, that's fine. You don't have to. I'm still not entirely certain if _I_ do. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't put it out there. Just in case it make someone else smile, too. :3

**Warnings:** Crap editing. :'D Part of "Bicentennial"…? Sorta? XD Takes place (some years) after "Hitches and Knots" (and the currently unwritten Angel arc); **you might want to review "Coffee Break."** My thanks to Sarah for inadvertently inspiring part of this, and, as per usual, to Maddie for insisting that this fic exist. XD

**XXX**

**Return**

**XXX**

**2:14 PM**

Q-tips were fascinating pieces of modern technology.

True advancements in science: a real testament to human ingenuity. Thinking about it, Ronald almost got choked up, at times; he had been inordinately blessed by the opportunity to live in an era where one could buy one hundred of these suckers for less than a dollar. Truly, there was a God. And He had consecrated the Q-tip. Yes: art meets convenience meets necessity. Durable, flexible, boldly venturing where nothing else could (or should)… The reaper remembered a time when he'd compared the beautiful contraption to Sebastian's beloved Enterprise (even dared to suggest the "Q" in the name might have come from a specific continuum), only to be ceremoniously kicked out of the demon's apartment, just-barely escaping the once-butler's storm of indigent fury.

Mostly Ron remembered this incident because it had happened last week. And since then, neither he, nor the other shinigami, had been allowed within spitting distance of the avian devil and his nest. (And considering how far they could all spit, that was rather disconcerting. They needed access to the grocery store again, and soon.)

" _Really!_ It's like someone rammed a yardstick up his ass," Grelle had snapped, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had an impressionable three-year-old resting against her jutted hip. Little Angel— springy blonde curls bouncing as she set her large, green eyes upon her mother— giggled at the redhead's irritation, then enthusiastically began parroting the latter half of Mama's qualms. In a lisp. Standing primly beside his girls, Will brandished a reprimanding finger at his daughter (who instantly donned the look of one who'd been thoroughly chastised), and shot his wife a withering glance. Someone needed to have her mouth washed out with soap… Maybe her brain doused in bleach, too, if Grelle's contemplative frown and continued musings were anything to judge by. "Funny that should piss him off so much… you'd think he'd enjoy that kind of treatment, so long as the rammer angled the yardstick so that the edge was hitting—"

Anyway, the long and the short of it was that the reapers had been effectively banned from the premises, and all because Sebastian had disagreed with (or generally failed to comprehend) the awesome power of the Q-tip. Which was ludicrous on a number of levels, really. So, just over a week later, decidedly sick of indulging the devil's unwarranted tantrum, Ronald had resolved to make it his personal mission to prove, once and for all, that there were some things you just don't fuck with. Q-tips being one of them. Because no, one did not simply _dismiss_ a good Q-tip.

…and also, he'd kind of dropped his keys whilst being bustled out last Wednesday, and Ron was sick of crashing on Will and Grelle's couch. As much as he once loved waking up next to a pretty lady, opening his eyes to find Angel's drooling, oatmeal-smeared face a scant few inches above his own was becoming a bit wearisome. Despite the regularity of her wake-up call (7:08 AM every morning), the shock of it never failed to stop his heart… and if the bubbly, yet-still-somehow malicious giggles his startled yelp always inspired were anything to go by, Sebastian and Ciel's brief stint as the girl's guardians hadn't been brief enough. Angels weren't supposed to be so deviant, were they? Or was that just a baby-thing…?

Well, in the cherub's defense, she always apologized to her uncle by inviting him to parties full of stuffed animals and invisible tea and plastic biscuits. That was fairly angelic. But then, she'd also invite her father and force him to wear pink princess hats, which seemed decidedly demonic. So…

Yeah, all babies were probably the devil.

But that wasn't the point right now. The point was his keys. And Q-tips. And picking this lock with the latter, since again. No keys. It was a circular sort of problem, exacerbated by the fact that his boyfriend was currently out of town, running a chore of some sort for Ciel. (Something about Funtom and visiting a pair of lesbians. That was all that Ronald's brain had retained of the long, detailed explanation his blondie had provided over the phone a few days ago.) Whatever the reasons, Finny's absence meant both sets of extra keys— to each apartment in question—were currently far across the state line, and staying there for some indeterminate amount of time. It also meant that he couldn't pretend he'd had to force his way in at the behest of the Phantomhive family's pseudo-maid, having been asked to do the other's chores 'cause he was sick, or something.

Which, again, brought him to now: Q-tipping his way into Sebastian's bolted home. And he'd be retaining full credit for doing so. Because he wanted to sleep in his own bed and have the keys back to his moped and also what the hell was Sebastian's problem in the first place? He'd made worse jokes— jokes about Clooney, even!— and gotten away with it.

"Oh my wizarding God, what is this thing called 'my life'…?" the reaper muttered to himself, kneeling before a brass doorknob and fiddling with its soon-to-be-damaged keyhole. Not that (potentially) being caught in comically stupid situations was anything new to Ron, but sometimes the reality of it all struck a bit harder than others. Maybe the glaring idiocy seemed more vivid today because he was mentally preparing to see his life (full of comically stupid situations) flash before his eyes… as soon as the demons realized what he'd done to their door, anyway. But on the bright side, he'd likely be bunkered up in his much-missed apartment when that discovery was made; it was mid-day, so Ciel would be sleeping off his nightshift at the gas station, and Sebastian would be busy serving waffles at Wendell's. So Ronald was, at least, safe for n—

"…well, hello there."

Because Irony, much like her sister the Universe, was kind of a bitch, the shinigami's reassuring thought wasn't even fully formed when (in very quick succession) he felt his Q-tip snap, the lock give, and the wooden barrier swing open wide to reveal—

"Can I help you?"

Sebastian. Clad in loose gray sweatpants and an equally-grungy sweatshirt, the dark-haired devil had a pint of caramel cone Häagen-Dazs in one hand, a spoon in the other, and both eyes trained upon the door. Whether his mouth was partly open in vague bemusement, or because a scoop of food was on-route and scheduled to land, was anyone's guess… though it hardly mattered either way. Certainly there were more important questions skittering about in Ron's mind, at the moment. Questions like: _if I started running right now, would I make it to the Canadian border before Sebastian caught up?_ and _Would I totally ruin these patented shoes in the process?_

As his would-be intruder contemplated these deep and pertinent musings, trying futilely to regain his bearings, the once-butler offered said intruder—still on his knees in the hallway, half-clinging to the handle of the unbolted door—an owlish double-blink… but for the most part seemed strangely unperturbed by the break-in. By the look of things, he'd been anticipating it for some time, curiosity having interrupting his journey between kitchen and couch.

…well, this was only incredibly awkward.

"I, um—" Floundering like a fish (and with bulging eyes to match), Ronald dropped his Q-tip and scrambled to his feet, scrubbing at the back of his head. Maybe he'd dislodge an idea if he scratched hard enough. "I know this looks kinda shady, dude, but I only wanted to prove—well, actually, okay, that was just gonna be a hilarious side-story after the fact; I really just planned to– that is, I dropped some stuff a few days ago and I didn't think—…what the hell are you _doing_ here, anyway?" the reaper finally finished, embarrassment morphing into exasperation when he suddenly remembered why, exactly, he'd chosen this particular time of day to stage his rescue mission. While it was great that Sebastian had been there to personally witness the power of the Q-tip, etc., etc., Ron hadn't really been expecting to explain himself _now_ ; he'd thought he'd have a few hours to come up with a cleverly phrased rendition of his adventures— maybe even doodles some accompanying illustrations, depending on how bored he was after catching up with his Tivo. And of course, he'd have crafted a few good puns with which to further tease the demon: something about how _his_ "Qs" were able to take down the security system of his friend's personal Enterprise with ease.

But no. No longer, anyway; Ron wasn't particularly good at thinking on his feet, and now he felt a touch bitter over the loss of a great potential joke.

Or maybe the joke wasn't entirely lost—it was just on him, now. Sebastian, at least, seemed markedly amused: grinning around his spoonful of… well, it wasn't just ice cream, but whatever-it-was had come from a cardboard container marked "ice cream," so there was probably some of said dessert in there _somewhere._ "What am I doing in _my_ house?" the devil then lightly echoed, arching a brow as he gave his utensil a ginger suck. "Not breaking the law, I suppose…? Or locks," he tacked on in afterthought, turning away from Ronald and finishing his trek to the sofa. "Your keys are on the counter, by the way. So keep your bum off of it or you'll likely lose them again."

Grinning to himself in the wake of this tasteless joke, Sebastian flopped contentedly down atop the couch and continued picking at his fare, proving that his sense of humor wasn't the only tasteless thing around. Despite being half-way across the room, Ronald could clearly make out a few pickle chips decorating the top of Sebastian's most recent bite, as well as what looked like a squirt of barbeque sauce. Wasn't this the same man who gagged whenever Will ate packets of peanut butter plain? After sweeping his keys into his jeans pocket, Ronald wandered over to the living room, as well: draping himself across the back of the couch and putting his revolted, scrunched-up features on full display. For the benefit of the butler, of course. You know, just in case Sebastian cared to know his opinion.

"What, are they not allowing you to serve others until your taste buds have started working again?" Ron shot back, peering more fully into the mysterious tub of culinary delights. He'd been right—there was a bit of ice cream in there, but it was difficult to differentiate from the mashed potatoes and kit-kats. "Geez, man. I know you don't eat human food all that often, but you were once a hoity-toity servant. You should know better than to throw all of this crap together and call it a meal. Talk about unappetizing…"

"The only unappetizing thing is that you've now stuck your nose in it," Sebastian prissily retorted, giving his friend a brusque shove with his shoulder. Yet, despite the curt rebuttal, the devil didn't seem particularly miffed by Ron's impertinence… which was nearly as surprising as the fact that he was eating at all. Crossing one knee over the other and lounging upon his Ikea furniture like a king would a velvet-swathed throne, the once-servant daintily licked the rim of his pint and offered Ron a snooty sniff. "I'll have you know that I was sent home from work because I spent half of the morning sick in the bathrooms. Funny thing about people at restaurants—they don't seem to enjoy being served by waiters who keep running off to vomit."

Judging by the terse tone of his voice, the knowledge that Sebastian had spent a good part of the day violently ill was meant to guilt Ronald into regretting his flippant ways. But no. Instead, the reaper snorted, looping his left leg over the back of the lounger and dropping his chin into the cup of his hands, lingering around Sebastian's shoulder like a Cheshire cat wannabe. He only needed the flicking tail, now; he had the toothy grin down pat. "And you figured that stuffing your face with the grossest combination of junk you could think of as soon as you got home would be a better approach to curing your flu than a shot of Dayquil?" he drolly posed, rolling around as much as the brace of his right leg would allow. "Or is it that you actually _wanna_ puke again? Are you secretly into that sorta thing? It'd make sense, I guess—it's not often you see such a cheery sick person."

Were this any other day, Sebastian probably would have spared a moment or two to unnecessarily inform Ronald that he was disgusting. But taking into consideration what he was currently eating, the devil decided that such a rebuke would probably seem hypocritical. So instead, the once-servant allowed his lips to quirk into a simpering smile of their own, poking at a hunk of A-1 coated broccoli with the bowl of his spoon. ("Geez, you have everything but the kitchen sink in there!" "Not true. I think there's a tile of it in here somewhere…" "…" ) "Well," Sebastian then lightly retorted, eyes twinkling with distant thoughts and cryptic cheer, "that's because I'm not really sick, isn't it?" Chortling to himself and arching a pointed brow, the devil hefted the saucy vegetable to his mouth and gave it a happy chew. He might not have punch in that pint, but he looked about as pleased as it.

Ooooh…

So that was it, huh? Ron nodded sagely, totally getting it now. After all, he'd written half of the slacker's Bible himself. "Ah," he hummed— so as to fully demonstrate how closely he was following — offering a playful wink to underscore the mischief in his smirk. "Faked it to get outta work? Playing hooky to hook up, eh? Eh? Eh?" Snickering knowingly—and giving his eyebrows quite the workout, to boot— Ronald began enthusiastically jabbing his elbow into Sebastian's side, as if to physically accentuate his tease. The devil responded to this harassment with an expression of utter apathy, popping back upright like one of those old inflatable punching dolls. "Naughty, naughty demons~ But ha, I used to do it all the time, too. Ah, good times, good times." And good times they were. But what made them especially fabulous was that he'd never really gotten caug—

"…you realize that I am going to relay that to William, yes?" Sebastian leveled dryly, a deviant snicker wedging itself in his throat when his companion's face drained of all color. Spluttering, Ron half-flopped, half-rolled down the back of the couch; the demon enjoyed his next swallow with an unusual degree of vindictiveness, even as he was bodily jostled by the shinigami. ("Meaniiiiiie~!") "And no," he then added, the epitome of casual indifference, "I did not _fake_ anything. I threw up, yes, but I am not sick."

His pale face firmly planted against a cushion, Ronald momentarily debated ignoring his host in lieu of further justified pouting—what a jerk, selling out secrets shared in an attempt to understand one another!— but in the end, decided it was kind of hard to breathe, sprawled as he was. So instead, he pealed his cheek from the leather upholstery and scrambled and squirmed 'til he'd managed to erect his tumbled body, readjusting himself so that he was sitting next to Sebastian like (dare he say it?) a normal, civilized person. Well, maybe just a 'normal' person; he did immediately prop his feet up on the coffee table. "Not anymore, you mean," Ronald corrected once he'd decided he looked presentable again, smoothing out the wrinkles that his tantrum had imposed upon his clothing. "If you've been eatin' like this for a while, you probably just had a bit of poisoning."

"…" The devil cast Ron an expression which asked if his ears were functional, or just for show. He wondered the same about the death god's brain. Assuming he had one at all.

" _No_ ," Sebastian both answered and scolded, giving Ronald's knees a sharp whap. The reaper hissed; as if this was some sort of test of his reflexes, his legs bent inward, sliding from the tabletop. Soon, a black scuffmark was the only sign he'd conquered that mount at all. Rolling his eyes in irritation—just what he needed, _more_ messy counters— the devil sighed, looking about to correct his companion (for the umpteenth time)… but then, unexpectedly, shook his head, no longer able to see the point of doing so. "But… fine, why not? Let's just go with that. Food poisoning. That's all. Mhm."

And as if that monotone retort had been the quintessence of convincing statements of truth, the demon smirked, reclined against his corner of the couch, and made a grab for the television remote. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Clooney isn't going to watch himse—well, perhaps he would, but still. Movie time."

No. _Not_ movie time.

With starting abruptness, the baffled Ron stood and positioning himself between Sebastian and the entertainment system—effectively interrupting the radio signals that traveled from the remote to the TV. If there was one thing Ronald hated (besides pushy landlords and icy women and overtime and overpriced brand names and My Little Pony spoilers and beats), it was being ignored and/or belittled. Deliberately overlooking the remote that was, at present, prodding him in the stomach and attempting to change the channel of his organs, the reaper fisted his hands against his hips and glared down his nose at the devil, demanding.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Disgustingly innocent, Sebastian gave his lacy lashes a single bat, as if taken aback by his friend's impulsive outburst. Right. "…generally, 'movie time' refers to a sectioned number of hours in a day during which a being decides to view pre-recorded, billion-dollar antics upon a plasma screen."

Cheeky bastard. Wholly annoyed now, Ronald grabbed hold of the controller (which seemed to be trying to find the default station of his stomach) and tossed it to the opposite side of the couch, where it would likely remain forever. Or, you know. Until someone walked by and returned it to Sebastian. Because that was the way of the world when it came to remotes: if you were too lazy to turn on the television yourself, then you were undoubtedly too lazy to get up and grab the remote if it happened to be out of reach. Or if there should be a grim reaper looming before you, all but fencing you in.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Ron groused, only-just managing to curb the childish desire to stamp his foot. Clearly, he'd been spending too much time with Angel. And her mother. "If it was food poisoning, you wouldn't be wearing _that_ smile of yours. _You_ know the one." Thrusting an accusatory finger at Sebastian, the death god waved wildly at his friend's quirked mouth, as if frantically circling the expression might somehow change it. As if his limbs were some sort of real-life Photoshop tool, and he was about to edit the shit out of Sebastian's face.

The demon, for his part, remained bemused. "No, I'm certain I do not," he assured. While wearing _that_ smirk. The self-satisfied smirk of a cat with a canary, or a canary with a worm, or a work with a belly full of dirt. Like a devil with a scrumptious secret—one too tasty to share. Or to upchuck, as it were. Even if he _had_ been vomiting all day. "Though, perhaps, if I had a mirror… Or maybe I could catch a glimpse of my reflection in the vacant, glassy sheen of your eyes."

"That's a liquid crusting of unadulterated _awesome_ , thank you. It's oozing from all of my orifices. I suffer from the Ebola version of awesome," Ronald coolly rebuked, ignoring the way Sebastian's nose scrunched in mild distaste. What a vile mental image. "But seriously. Something is totally up. You're smiling, and sick people don't smile." He paused. Reconsidered. "…unless they have lockjaw, I guess."

Always classy, that Ronald.

"Well, that's not the case for me. Obviously," Sebastian unnecessarily pointed out, indulging in another heaping helping of his mish-mashed treat. He had to finish what he could before the ice cream and bomb pops melted… it'd just be gross, otherwise. "I neither have lockjaw, nor am I sick. As I believe I've mentioned. Multiple times, at this point."

"Fine, okay, _I get it_. You're not sick," the death god assented in mild annoyance, raking a hand though his tousled locks. "Which is enough of a reason to smile, I guess, but seriously— why the hell are you smiling? It's creeping me out, dude!"

"Oh…?" Still gallingly innocuous of tone and expression (which, really, served only to make things disconcertingly _worse_ for his friend), Sebastian softened the pinches of his toothy grin, attempting to envelop himself in an aura of nonchalant flippancy. As always, though, he found his biggest success in portraying smugness. BBQ sauce and caramel scented smugness. "Well, that was not my intent. Though it is a delightful bonus, I will confess." Chuckling blithely as he licked at the corners of his lips, the demon finally took pity on the pouting reaper, patting the seat invitingly beside him. "Calm down, Ronald. No need to work yourself into a lather on my account… I just found out some very happy news, that's all. _Now_ will you hand me the remote…?"

It was a nice attempt. Well wheedled. But nope.

Not yet pacified—or not fully, anyway—Ronald scrutinized Sebastian's face all the more intently, forehead furrowing as he tried to determine whether or not his friend was being honest. But then, he was a devil, and therefore not allowed to lie… "…what sort of happy news?" the shinigami eventually pressed, relaxing his posture a touch as he continued to stare at Sebastian. Or watch him, really: the demon was presently engaged in a pathetic struggle for the remote control, bending over Ron's lap and stretching for it. In the end, he surrendered to failure with a pained sigh, righting himself before he could accidentally spill or drop his snack.

"I certainly gave you enough clues. Perhaps you could deduce it for yourself," the demon returned blandly, seemingly annoyed to have risked his dignity for naught. Honestly, were the reapers completely devoid of manners? Breaking into his apartment was one thing, but refusing to return the controller? There were lines that you simply did not cross, and Ron was toeing one of them.

Not that Ronald was aware of this. Even under the best of circumstances, he didn't tend to pay much attention to where his feet were going; right now, the man was too busy mentally revisiting their previous conversation, trying to pick out relevant hints, to give heed to anything else. He might not have been as good as, say, Ciel, at deducing random shit from scattered bits of evidence, but neither was he as big a dunderhead as everyone else assumed. He got this. Though it took a moment of deep, brow-knitting, lips-pursing, nose-scrunching concentration, when Ronald finally formulated his conclusion, he was damn sure he'd come to the right one. And the realization he drew made his heart skip a beat.

"…50 percent off all My Little Pony goods at Target?"

Sebastian's expression—already flat in the wake of his fruitless straining—became so much so it was nearly two dimensional.

"I'm pregnant."

The droned correction hung between the unusual pair for a lengthy minute, kept aloft by unseen strings of tension. Ronald blinked. Once. Twice. Gawped at his somber friend, who merely arched an eyebrow in silent reply. That—! That…

That was _hilarious_. With a spurt of spittle and a painful-sounding snort, the reaper laughed—guffawed, really: clamped his hands over his belly and careened dramatically forward, as if mirth were a rambunctious toddler who had physically shoved him. Only-just managed to remain standing, Ronald snickered with such exuberant abandon that he fogged up his glasses, slapping his knees as he stomped his feet. " _Ffffffff—_ Dude, you said that with such a straight face! And here I thought nothing about you was straight! (Get it? _Get it?_ ) Man, sometimes I can understand why the Undertaker loves you—!" Giggling like a giddy school girl, Ron dabbed a few beaded tears (or oozing vestiges of awesome, whatever) from his glistening eyes, wheezing in delight. "Oh, oh man… Okay, that was a good one, I'll grant you that. Now, really. What's up? …eh? C'mon, c'mon~"

But nothing else, it seemed, was up. Or down. Or any other direction for that matter; for as much as the shinigami coaxed and pleaded, the devil offered no further answer. Instead, impressively stoic, Sebastian chose to ignore Ronald in favor of eating, his movements delicate and starchy to indicate his faint displeasure. The prick. Acting so offended took all of the fun out of the situation…

"Aw, don't be like that," the glib Ron cajoled, flopping spiritedly down next to the once-butler and flashing him a tickled grin of his own. Plucking an apple wedge from the top of Sebastian's pint, the reaper cleaned it of half-melted cream, then tucked into it with a _crunch_ and a whine. "Tell me, would you? What, did they discount those new Pony tents with Twilight Sparkle and Spike on 'em? Because I need me one of them. I thought I might hold out for a version with Rainbow Dash on it, but who knows if-or-when that'll happen, you know? And Finny thinks it'd be a nice way to hide our boxes of random junk from view, as well as be something for Angel to play with when she comes over and oh my _God_ you're _serious_."

In a moment of stomach-dropping revelation, the half-eaten fruit (rather appropriately) also, well, dropped: tumbling from Ron's flailing fingers and leaving a wet mess on his pants. Sebastian's pursed lips stretched into a silent smirk— vengeful, almost, as the reaper thrashed bodily beside him on the couch, engaging in the most histrionic double-take the demon had ever seen. (Baring, of course, the time that Grelle had decided to compare her implants to Ciel's post-shifting breasts, and had grabbed a handful of the latter's chest with no more warning then "So do these count as 'real' or…?") Scrambling like a turtle that had accidentally flipped itself onto its back, Ronald did, eventually, figure out how to thrash himself onto his feet. Jabbing his index as if it were some sort of blunted sword (or maybe the blending tool, this time), he now wore a crazed expression the likes of which the devil hadn't seen since his acquaintanceship with Ash Landers.

"How the fuck did you get _pregnant?_ "

Sebastian's placid features morphed into a mask of notable incredulity. "…you can't have been as much of a playboy as previously claimed if you _really_ need me to answer that question," he drawled, gracing Ronald with a look that was simultaneously pointed and pitying. The poor, naïve creature; all of his former conquests had probably just been body pillows. Or those well-endowed mouse pads. "But very well. To save you from future _embarrassment_ with Finny: when two people love each other very much—"

Okay, _no_. The only "embarrassing" thing here was the prospect of being taught the "birds and the bees" by a demon clad in elastic-waisted pants. Who was currently dipping Greek olives in the remnants of chocolate sauce. "But you're a _man!_ " Ron weakly protested, gesticulating at Sebastian's slender, but-still-obviously-male body. "You don't even have the _parts—_!"

" _Devil_."

"…oh, right." The reaper faltered, blinking once, as if only just remembering this pertinent fact. As if he'd somehow forgotten the many, many other forms he'd seen both Sebastian and Ciel take, fully bosomed or otherwise. (Considering the number of times he'd unknowingly hit on the two at the bar and the club, perhaps he _had_ forgotten. Intentionally.) But still, to look at his companion right now—still calmly popping olives into his smiling mouth—it just seemed so… well, "wrong" wasn't the right word. Or, at least, he didn't approve of its other connotations. But the universe (bitchy or no) _did_ seem to be a bit out of whack, if Ronald was honestly expected to believe that the man before him—always so fashion conscious and beautiful— was about to willingly undergo the horrors of getting bloated and fat and then pushing something the size of a watermelon out from between his legs. How was that even going to _work_? How was he going to keep his _job(s)_? Did Ralph Lauren even _make_ maternity clothes for guys? The questions were practically endless. And yet, Ron found himself effectively speechless.

For a good five minutes, Sebastian simply allowed his friend to gawk at him as if he were some new, previously undiscovered breed of seahorse. Then he smiled faintly, gaze gentle and apologetic. 'I'm sorry for breaking your tiny little mind.' "…I realize that this came from out-of-the-blue," the demon murmured, setting aside his nosh in favor of folding his hands: poising himself like some sort of therapist. "But I can't say that I expected you to break in—I beg your pardon— I hadn't expected you to _drop by_ today. I'd been planning on making a general announcement at this Friday's movie night, after I'd had a chance to tell Cie—"

" _CIEL OH MY GOD DID YOU HEAR THAT SEBASTIAN IS PREGNANT BECAUSE HE IS._ "

"—?"

Well, _that_ was certainly a morning greeting that the once-earl had never heard before. Only-just having woken up—blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes— the not-boy in question had appeared without his husband's notice, freezing beside the jamb of the kitchen when met with a barrage of accusatory shouting. Fist lowering from his face, the demonling stared dully at the pair in the living room, brain slowly processing the sight before him. Sebastian (looking very, very peeved) was glaring balefully up at a notably-pale Ronald, who, in turn, was gawping at Ciel like a mentally handicapped goldfish, turning a shaking finger in the old butler's direction. For another long spell, there was silence—a silence tinged by pouting, disbelief…

And then was broken by burbled snorts of laughter, Ciel's blank face cracking into a snickered smirk as he gave his eyes a mighty roll. " _Wow_ , are you easy to troll, Ron," the young devil commented wryly, scrubbing a hand through his tousled locks before turning his attention to the kettle on the counter. "I mean, I fell for that one as a _child,_ I confess, but seriously… This is just sad."

"I… what?" Flummoxed, Ronald felt himself deflate a fraction: index finger wilting as his face tilted in dramatic bewilderment. It was as if all of his thoughts had migrated to the right side of his head— or if Ciel's curtness had stolen from him whatever conviction he'd originally possessed, throwing him physically off-balance. "But… but Sebastian said… and—and the food… and not being at work…"

Standing beside the stove now, waiting for his water to boil, Ciel's drumming fingers stilled as the shinigami senselessly babbled. Brow arcing, the demon tossed Ron a sardonic glance from over his bony shoulder, looking both concerned (by Ron's stupidity) and amused (by the same thing). Of course, as soon as his eyes were no longer on it, the kettle began to steam. "…wow. If that's all you're basing this claim of yours on, it's a good thing you're neither a doctor nor a detective." With another grunted chortle, the not-boy shook his head and poured himself a bubbling cup, idly playing with the string of the tea pouch he'd lowered into the water. "Last night, I ordered Sebastian to clean out the fridge. But then we… well, busied ourselves with other activities." The airy euphemism had Ciel's smirk widening by two teeth on either side—incisors as white as the bone-china he'd brought to his lips. His deviant mirth only grew more pronounced when Ronald gagged, not having needed to know that. "As for Wendell's, they were overstaffed this morning and sent him back home. Simple as that."

Lifting his mug as if to toast the disconcerted reaper's folly, Ciel grabbed himself a few lumps of sugar from a pot beside the coffee maker and wandered to the sofa as well, squeezing himself comfortably between Sebastian and the armrest. After glancing around for a moment or two, he frowned, turned his attention back upon Ron, and tacked on, "Hand me the clicker, will you?"

…enough was enough.

No longer able to distinguish truth from lies, reality from stories, or bear the thought of being further toyed with (after all, he hardly needed anyone else's help to feel like a moron), Ronald—without another word—turned on his heel and marched his way back to the foyer. A commendably dramatic exit, all the way around; he didn't even need to pause to open the door, seeing as it'd never been closed in the first place. Q-tips scattered across the threshold, the broken lock jangled as he wandered past, heavy footfalls vanishing along with the reaper as he wandered back into the real world, hoping he might find some semblance of sense out there. It had, after all, apparently abandoned the Phantomhives' apartment. It seemed wise to do the same. Preferably before gravity decided to hit the road, too.

**2:38 PM**

"…well, save it all. _Now_ what are we supposed to do?" Ciel groused, frowning bitterly as he helped himself to an M &M half-drowned in milky ice cream. Forever the obliging sort, Sebastian tipped his pint in his master's direction, further spooning a Skittle his way… but the little one dismissed it with a distracted wave, instead sticking his fingers into his mouth and sucking off the residue of sticky candy coating. ' _Melts in your mouth,' my ass_. "The remote is all the way over there…"

"Mmm," Sebastian lamented, turning his gaze in the same general direction—all the way to the other side of the couch. Now on the verge of slipping between the front and back cushions, the controller plaintively (if mutely) cried out for help: innocently pleading that either demon risk their comfort to save it from the ledge. It seemed a bit mocking, really. As if it was calling them out on their laziness. "Well…" the elder of the two evenly added, with just the faintest hint of proactive defensiveness coloring his amiable tone, "I sat down first. And I am the one holding the snacks. So…"

Instinctively, the demonling bristled. He knew a battle cry when he heard one. Comely countenance curdling in complaint, Ciel allowed his Contract eye to flare: an ethereal lilac flame smoldering on the surface of an oceanic iris. "…I'm the master in this relationship," he then countered in brusque monotone.

"I thought we were equals…?" Sebastian held up his hand, showing off his wedding band with a flick of willowy fingers. Dammit. New tactic. New angle.

"I agreed to watch a Clooney movie with you."

"Because _I_ let you use the lasso on me last night, if you'll recall."

He did recall. In iniquitous detail.

"…you loved it."

"I loved your cowboy hat, certainly," the once-butler agreed with a velvet chuckle, papery lids lowering over eyes that glistened with memories. Springing from somewhere deep within his throat, the rich sound of laughter resonated: its deviltry exacerbated by Sebastian's evocative smirk. And as that laughter persisted—grew more sonorous, even— Ciel's cheeks took on a delightful pink hue… which only served to make the scene far more amusing. "Almost as much as I loved playing the part of your fair, but bucking steed."

"Oh?" Despite his innocent blush, the fledgling's expression became one of impious suggestion. Eyebrow cocked and coral lips leering, Ciel reared up onto his knees and stared down his nose at his unruffled husband. "Then I suppose you wouldn't mind if I were to straddle you right now, horsie…?" he asked in airs of deviant sweetness, spidery fingers coiling around his lover's slim shoulders. To brace himself, of course. No other reason. At this, Sebastian smiled, setting his treat atop the coffee table. There were far more important—and far more delicious—things to hold, after all.

"Mind? Never. I am yours to ride whenever you wish," the devil purred, slender hands fluttering to perch upon the bony curves of Ciel's hips. The smaller demon shivered a bit at the other's ginger touch—his pale skin moist and chilled from lingering droplets of condensation— but nevertheless lingered atop Sebastian's lap: knees fencing waist and chest brushing chest. He only intended to stay for a moment—just a temporary tease, a bit of playful punishment for forcing Ciel to grab the clicker—but when the once-earl giggled and made to move, turning his body so as to crawl down the remaining length of the couch, he found himself unable.

Sebastian still held to him. Carefully, yes. But pointedly: applying a gentle downward pressure so that Ciel might take a seat atop his thighs, rather that scuttle away. At first, the fledgling mistakenly assumed that this was part of their game, and struggled against capture with a snigger… but as he made a show of twisting and squirming, he cast his old servant a sultry glance— and froze at the sight of his face. Though Sebastian's unblinking gaze was, as always, warm with adoration, his eyes had hardened in a sudden display of somberness; his enigmatic smile teased at pink cheeks, hinting at something… more. Something serious and important and wonderful, and the radiance of it stole the strength from Ciel's legs. With no further resistance, the demonling allowed himself to sink into the cradle of Sebastian's lap, head cocked in mounting trepidation.

"Sebastian…?" Bemused, but uncertain of how else to act, Ciel's fingers slipped down the slope of his lover's lithe limbs, smoothing flat rumpled folds of fraying fabric. They didn't get far; with his usual grace, Sebastian caught hold of his young master's traveling hands: folding his own around them and bringing the dainty digits to his lips to kiss. And all the while, his grin remained, as if the wordless answer to the other's unspoken question.

But since Ciel didn't seem to understand the silent version of this response, Sebastian eventually relented: chortling softly as he moved to rest his chin atop their twined fists. "…seeing as you _just_ used the memory to mock dear Ronald," the demon began roguishly, faceted gaze twinkling with mirth as he pressed another, approving sort of kiss to his master's frail knuckles, "I will surmise you remember that day in Starbucks… could it have already been a decade ago? The day that I first teased you with the idea of offspring."

It took less than a beat for the memory to resurface.

"Of course I remember," Ciel quipped with a snort, mouth quirking in confusion-tinged amusement. Giving his head a brief jerk to the right, he gestured vaguely towards the hallway closet, where a number of coats dangled from wire hangers. "We're still using the punch line to hang our jackets. What of it?"

…oh yes.

"…well…" Whetting chapped lips, Sebastian delicately cleared his throat, very obviously abstaining from turning his head in the indicated direction. In fact, the idea of doing so had him looking faintly green— kind of like earlier that morning, prior to dashing off to work. At the time, half-asleep and groggy, the fledgling had assumed it'd only been a trick of the light; devils as a breed weren't known for catching flus. But… Fingers flexing atop Ciel's— twitching, more like it, in a flurry of nerves— Sebastian waffled a moment longer: pausing as if to re-garner scattered courage. Then his little smile returned, its pinches trembling hopefully. "Well, I know you felt… rather strongly… about the idea, back in the day. But ten years is a long time, baby bird, and we've both changed a great deal since my, ah, somewhat tasteless joke."

As he confessed to prior tactlessness, Sebastian's expression gained a sheepish edge, as if in apology for a prank pulled ages in the past. As if the recollection might still be offensive to his master, in some way. But no; in truth, Ciel couldn't really come up with why it would matter now, in any capacity. Hell, it didn't matter then. He hardly thought of it, even when putting his coat away. Regardless, though, and for whatever reason, this little spiel seemed important to Sebastian… So the not-boy listened and nodded along, patient and prompting, ever the supportive spouse. Sebastian, in turn, allowed himself to be prompted, pressing bravely onward. "And perhaps," he musingly continued, holding all the tighter to the hands in his grasp, "perhaps we'd never have noticed how much we'd evolved, in that sense, if it hadn't been for Angel's unexpected appearance— helpless and abandoned on our doorstep. Maybe if we'd been able to force Uriel to take her back to the realm Above, or if Grelle had chimed in with the idea of adoption sooner, we'd still be oblivious to our own growth. But as it happened… well. She was ours for three months, and she showed us a side of ourselves that we hadn't previously been aware of." Here, Sebastian paused once more, simultaneously steeling and calming himself. Ciel had never seen him so anxious… It piqued the younger one's interest, as well as his concern. "Though we only played the role of her parents briefly, and caring for her presented a number of unforeseen challenges… it also seemed to bring you—well, the both of us— …unforeseen joy. Though we ultimately knew we weren't the right guardians for a heavenly being, and though giving her to Grelle and Will was a decision that neither of us regrets, I don't think I'm the only one who noticed the… the hole in our lives after she was gone. One that couldn't be filled, exactly—you can never replace another being, I know, but— …but the fact that it existed at all was enough for me to realize how I could bring you even more happiness."

"…what are you trying to say, Sebastian?" Stiff-backed and prim atop his husband's lap, features vacant and low voice empty, Ciel mentally tried to connect the many, varied dots that the devil was drawing out for him, fighting to make sense of the situation in his static-riddled mind. What was his butler saying? He couldn't possibly be— no. No, what Ciel was thinking was ludicrous! They'd decided not to. Hadn't they? Even after the demon's hoax. In ten years' time, of course the idea of a family had come up; in his most-secret heart-of-hearts, Ciel remained, in many ways, human—if given the chance, who _wouldn't_ want to gain back what they'd lost? (Like a certain police officer, lost long ago, whose memory he might be able to properly honor, if given such a chance…) But to actively pursue the idea wouldn't have been fair to Grelle, who wanted children more than anything. Sure, she'd have been thrilled for the couple, but the whole affair would have been doused in guilt… and they wanted better for their best friend. They wanted her to be happy—genuinely happy—and not forced to "fake it" for their sake. In truth, that had been one of the deciding factors in giving her custody of Angel: to help her realize her dream of—

… because…

…wait. Grelle was a mother now. Grelle _had_ her child. She and Will had a family, so—

Sebastian's sunny beam, already beautifully bright, became almost blindingly-so as Ciel's blue eyes snapped open wide. His pulse thudding deafeningly in his ears, the once-earl choked on a tiny gasp, disbelief clogging his throat. "…no."

His husband chuckled, nodding as he again brushed his lips against quavering knuckles.

"Yes."

"W-we met our evil quota this month," Ciel reminded in a rush, torso heaving gently in the wake of escalating emotions. Within the bony cage of his chest, his knotting insides wriggled, and his racing heart throbbed, and they and his feelings surged and swelled to the point where he thought he might actually _pop_ — _"_ so you don't have to li—"

He was cut off by a blustery little laugh, Sebastian's left hand falling to rest against the base of his rattled lover's spine. "I don't lie," the devil then reminded gently, rubbing soothing circles into his master's lower back. The calming gesture was accompanied by a husked purr of a coo, as well as a seeming attempt at forced reciprocation: moving with a tentative reverence, Sebastian's right hand took hold of Ciel's, gingerly slipping his husband's palm beneath the front of his sweatshirt. As the cloth rode up, cool fingers were tenderly pressed against the barest beginnings of a bump, firm but supple. And though the earl half-considered faking a protest—insisting that this must be the ramifications of the other's recent glut of questionably flavored snacks— he couldn't. He couldn't form the words.

Sebastian could, though. He tried to prove it, too: gaze glistening, chin wobbling, smile already in his eyes but still straining to physically touch them. "Little one, I really _am_ pre—"

Not fair. This sort of moment should leave them _both_ speechless.

And though the revelation of pregnancy and children and _family_ had failed to awe the elder demon into silence, Ciel's response more than made up for that: it was, after all, difficult to make much noise when another's mouth was pressed so desperately to your own. Moreover, his kiss not only succeeded in ridding Sebastian of words, but also of breath, thoughts, and eventually of clothes… As well as any desire to watch a silly George Clooney movie.

Perfection.

They shifted, they fell back; the sofa groaned as sweetly as the eager, affectionate devils. And as cushions were repositioned beneath twining limbs, the remote slipped between them, falling into the same dark void as so many kernels of popcorn, pennies, and catnip mice. Later, the Phantomhives would forget it'd been there at all, and would simply consider it lost. But that was alright.

Some things, once lost, could be found again.

**XXX**


	2. Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Once upon a time, a long time ago, this guy noticed Death givin' him the ol' hairy eyeball."

**Disclaimer:** Haha, no. :'D

 **Author's Note:** So there are two camps, it seems. Camp one is "Add more angst to Bi!" The other is "Bi must always be happy!" And after visiting both of these camps for a while, I've… well, I don't want to say that I've joined either party, but I've come to a decision in regards to proceeding. The way I see it, if "Bi" is all sunshine, all of the time, it loses its credibility as a series. I mean, life isn't always rosy, right? Not to mention, it'd get boring to read _and_ write. XD; So while I don't (necessarily) plan on giving "Bi" a sad ending (or an ending at all), that's not gonna stop me from throwing in some drama, from time to time.

…and okay, maybe I really like writing angst. 8D;

 **Warnings:** Fail editing. :'D M-preg. (I can hear you judging me. Stop that.) But in my defense, we know nothing of demonic physiology, so I contend that this could happen. (Review "Coffee Break" for more details on that.) Other 'warnings' include implied SebaCiel; Grelle/Seb friendship, an Angel sighting (Grelle and Will's adopted angel daughter— see author's note of "Return"for more details), a temper tantrum and some swearing. Part of the "Bicentennial" series…? Takes place a few years after "Hitches and Knots" and the (currently unwritten) Angel arc, and just over half a year after "Return." **(As is probably obvious at this point, I don't plan on attacking the "preg!Seb" storyline chronologically. ^^; )** A sort of pseudo-sequel to "Moral." Grelle PoV.

**XXX**

**Right**

**XXX**

"Once upon a time, a long time ago, this guy noticed Death givin' him the ol' hairy eyeball."

And that's all that I manage before an indignant puff of air—a histrionic wisp of a sigh—punctuates my attempt at a tale with all of the finality of… well, punctuation. "I know dis one, mama," the three-year-old in my lap mumbles in reminder, frowning dejectedly as she tilts her pudgy face back to look into mine. Her green eyes are baleful and bored; her curls are mussed from her slovenly slouch against my chest. Crossing her cherub arms, Angel pouts out her bottom lip and fumes in response to my barefaced audacity; how dare I even _think_ of boring her with a repeat? This, of course, coming from the little one who has somehow managed to wear out three electronic movie files by watching them incessantly.

Tilting my own head upward, I indulge in a roll of my eyes. A bad habit, I know: one that Angel will undoubtedly pick up and immediately begin to use against me, despite my best attempts to instill her with a sense of ladylike demureness. But I can hardly help it, sometimes; girls will be girls, and all of that. And she is every inch her mother's daughter, bless her.

"Well, the story isn't for you, is it?" I nevertheless counter, careful to keep my voice low and gentle. I had made her promise to stay quiet, as well; like the angel she is, she has so far kept her word, despite her mounting disappointment. "It's to entertain your uncle."

"…oh?"

Apparently, this was news.

Once again, I am offered a breathy curl of laughter as answer— just as soft as Angel's previous exhalation, and nearly as girlish. In a deep, crushed velvet sort of way, anyway: husky and rasped. Teetering on the edge of femininity; slowly surrendering to the inevitable fall. Supine and swaddled, skin as white as his blankets and sheets, Sebastian whispers an amused chuckle. "If t-that's so," he then mumbles, his long, lacy lashes flickering blearily, "I'd be equally happy… with another story…" The coverlets rustle; the springs of the bed groan as loudly as its occupant, both shifting in futile attempts to find comfortable positions. At different points, both Angel and I had attempted to assist—in some way, anyway; maybe just rearrange the quilt for him—but our efforts and hands had been gingerly batted to the side, a slender (no, downright _skeletal_ ) arm lifting to act as a sort of barricade. Those bony barriers had since fallen, lax and limp against his hip, but the sentiment remains.

Of course, there are other ways that I can help. I know that. But for the moment, I've to set a good example for my child. "What sort of story would you like to hear, then?" I inquire cheerfully, my chin falling to rest once more atop Angel's golden head. She squirms a bit, antsy; her heavenly lineage makes it difficult for her to see suffering creatures and not want to purify and heal. But that would do more harm than good, in this case… I tighten my arms around her, trying to still her wriggles. And Sebastian, noticing the gesture, responds in kind: oh-so-subtly attempting to inch from the edge of the mattress, away from mother and daughter. Not so much out of callousness, I know, but so as to help alleviate any growing temptations. How un-devilish of him… But then, it wouldn't be the only strange thing about Sebastian, now: not the only contradiction or paradox. Braced as he is—temporarily propped up on his elbows—the front of Sebastian's nightshirt has pulled itself tightly against his torso… and straining against the pale cloth of the opened top are the buds of tender breasts. The emergent bits of foreign anatomy heave and quaver beneath bolts of clammy cotton; Sebastian notes their appearance with an expression of vague disinterest, choking down a shuddered wheeze. As if the added weight of the exotic lumps serve as the last metaphorical straws, the demon slumps and sinks once more: prostrate, listless, weak. With whatever strength he has left, Sebastian allows his heavy head to loll, the inky strands of his lengthening hair splayed and shining and sticky with sweat. Unbelievable. I'd replaced his pillow case no more than five minutes ago, and it's already transparent with oil and exertion. He needs a new one. He needs to sleep. He needs—

But instead of doing what he needs to, Sebastian uses his groggy black eyes to search out my own; their hazy stare is highlighted by the violet bags that ring their weary undersides. And all the while, the devil smiles. Lips as thin and blue as the ribbons of visible veins that coil beneath his papery skin, he smiles. "…perhaps one… from that book of yours," he returns in kind, so cheerful it's almost disgusting. Still dangling from the side of the bed, the tips of his fingers give a twitch that might have been intentional. They are, after all, pointed in the general direction of my purse. And inside of my purse… "Like… with Ciel…"

The words are little more than choked syllables and disconnected sounds, by the end; the poor attempt at language eventually dissolves into a cough that racks up and down the whole of his body. As has become something of a theme these past few weeks, there's nothing I can do but helplessly watch as he gags. Watch as he suffers. Watch as he… as he clutches his stomach, panting around a whimper. And as his trembling fingers contract against the round of his distended belly, I can't help but feel my own flip-flop— the bowels that writhe directly beneath it becoming ice, then air, then nothing. He'd meant it as a joke, I know. He'd meant it as a joke, because the situation is so very, very grim. Because this is his way to cope and comfort.

Because I am not the only one plagued by a strange feeling of déjà vu, it seems. I am not the only one aware of the sick, sick similarities. Same bed. Same cloth and bucket. Same log by my side, same act, same lie. Same grin for a while, but it has since slid from my face… and I allow the fidgety Angel to slide from my lap in kind, setting her instead on the floor with a kiss sweetly pressed to her forehead. She looks a touch confused by the sudden loss of her seat—chest stuck out and cheeks ballooned cutely, clearly wondering what she'd done wrong— but I reassure her with a chipper beam, silently praying that my notable talent as an actress is still enough to fool one person in this room, at least.

"Mama and your uncle need to talk, sweetheart." It's not a lie. It wouldn't really matter if it was, since I, as a grim reaper, am allowed to spout out as many falsehoods as I damn well please. (Take that, devils.) But it is, unfortunately, a half-truth, and angels are notoriously good at sniffing those out. As if to exemplify this, Angel scrunches her nose and frowns, torn between trusting what her mother says and knowing that her mother reeks of blatant bullshit. What on earth? I used to be so good at this. Maybe years of peace have left a layer of rust on my performance skills… or maybe it's just easier to fool an audience who'd rather believe your attempts at deceit. Unfortunately, it seems Angel is not currently counted amongst that crowd.

"You're gonna tell him another stowy, aren't you?" the little one accuses, seemingly hurt to realize that she'd managed to lose her invitation to story time. Hadn't she been quiet? Hadn't she been good? Fisting her bitty hands in the front of her heart-print day dress, Angel again puffs out her rosy cheeks and snivels in protest. "I wanna hear it, Mama!"

Her insistence is wearisome; all the more so because there really wouldn't be much to hear. Well, besides the sound of chewing. And my husband's furious screams if he ever discovered what I was about to do. "This is a story for grown-ups. You can hear it when you're older," I nevertheless assure, because that's what I do. I coddle and bolster and generally lie through my teeth. Geez, if _I_ had a monthly evil quota to fill, I'd be set. As it is, I grin and slip my glasses from my face, instead placing the bridge of the scarlet spectacles atop my daughter's button nose. Like most children, she has always been fascinated by what she'd not been allowed to touch; with a delighted squeal, she clamps her fists around the plastic temples and holds them to her head, brilliantly pacified by this new toy.

Pacified, but not totally distracted.

"Pwomise?" she insists with a giggled grin, pearly little baby teeth glinting like ivory in the sallow glow of the bedroom lamps. Emerald eyes now magnified— seemingly taking up half of her face—Angel's gaze remains intense and probing… until, with a somber nod, I sign to her "I love you" and chant with notable graveness:

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

The solemn ritual conveys what it needs to, and convinces who it must. Still fiddling with the glasses, keeping them clamped in place with her own tiny hands, Angel bobs her head in appeasement and then turns her attention to Sebastian. Her smile loses a touch of its mirth at the sight; in mimicry of all of the adults who have ever spoken to her when ill, she tiptoes to the bed, leans over the mattress (as best she can, anyway— which is to say, she presses herself flat against the bedframe), and lowers her voice to a concerned stage whisper. "I'mma go pway with Uncle Finny now, 'kay…? In case you need me."

She's not yet tall enough for anything but her vivid, currently-bugged eyes to be visible over the lip of the bed; still, that is enough for Sebastian to know where to look. Head tilted downward, he chuckles in a show of understanding and gratitude, the tips of cold fingers skimming briefly over the apple of her cheek. Angel makes a grab for that hand, but neither has the strength to hold the other… and if she lets go of my glasses, she risks breaking them. Looking a touch saddened by this realization, the angel nuzzles against the demon's motionless arm, as if trying to force some life back into it. "Still no hugs, 'Ba?"

His dangling hand jostles limply in the wake of the toddler's affections. Brow puckering with guilt, Sebastian flashes the small girl an apologetic smile, propping his temple up against the headboard. "I'm sorry, love… I can't—" _touch you more than this._ Honest, maybe, but too cruel. Knowing this, the devil hesitates, swallows. And after a moment, he makes a valiant second attempt: still not lying, but instead telling a different truth. "…it makes my tummy hurt to move."

Angel considers this, nostrils flaring suspiciously… but she is a generally accepting creature, and it is easiest to act in accordance with one's basic nature. "D'you wan' me ta touch your tummy?" she sweetly volunteers, pushing herself forward and trying to shimmy onto the bed. Though her jostling of the mattress makes the both of us wince—I'm quick to tug her down and back— Sebastian seems touched that she holds his comfort in such high regard; it's even more important than protecting my precious and usually-forbidden eyewear. Well, at least she understands the importance of priorities. "I can make you feew better…"

And she could. Were Sebastian willing to take a very great risk and possibly pay a very high price. But he is not, and so he must refuse. Head jerking feebly back and forth, her graces the cherub with a grateful grin, but nevertheless flicks the offer away with a tic of his fingers. "Not this time, Angie… Rain check."

The idiom is lost on the three year old. "I think Uncle Ronnie said it's gonna rain on Friday," she informs, visibly perking. It draws another chortle from Sebastian's lips, previously lodged somewhere deep in his throat.

"Mm… Perhaps Friday, then."

"'Kaaaay~" the mollified angel sings, skipping to the door with an ASL flash of love for the both of us. All sunshine and daisies, that one… and when she leaves with a twirl, closing the door behind her, things feel so much darker than they had before.

"…"

For a moment, Sebastian and I sit in a heavy silence. Which is actually more impressive than it sounds, considering all that I want to say and all of the agonized moans that the devil is trying to stifle. Sans a single muffled yelp, he is for the most part successful… But that is of very little comfort to either of us. In a last-ditch effort to sooth what writhes within, the devil mutters a croaky coo, one of his emaciated hands lifting to rub at the bulge of his belly; despite cloaking layers of fabric and flesh, I can still see the protrusion of minute hands and feet thrashing and pushing against the prison of the devil's provisional womb. I muffle a pained sound of my own, and then slip from my chair—instead gingerly lowering myself onto the bed beside my best friend.

The devil's eyes are closed when I sit, but I know he can feel the slight dip in the mattress. More acutely, he can feel the heat of my body as I lean clinically closer— insides twisting strangely as I watch his unseen babies struggle beneath taut skin. It's not jealousy, per se; I'm a mother now in my own right, and couldn't love Angel any more if she'd been biologically bred of me. Besides, Sebastian-darling and the brat have suffered enough for my sake, reigning in their own desires for a family in fear of hurting my feelings. So no, it's not envy that leaves me feeling faintly sick. I don't hate Bassie for being able to do what I can't.

But… for now, in some ways, I do hate—

"So… do I get the story you promised…?" The cracked query cuts through my dark musings with a lilt and a laugh, lighthearted mirth still the only medicine Sebastian can seem to prescribe himself. I am tempted to follow in kind; perhaps if I treat this situation less seriously, it will magically become less serious. Somehow. But no, I figure one of us has to play the level-headed, clear-minded adult. And it seems only fair that I should step up on the rare occasion that Sebastian should choose to reject the role. With a blustery sigh, then, I reach down and hook my boot around my handbag's strap, pulling it over to me and rustling through its messy insides. Even as I scrounge, I can't help but take some degree of pride in the hiding place I'd selected; everyone knows it's impossible for anyone but the owner to find things in a girl's purse. It might as well be a portable Swiss vault. Case in point—what I'd managed to smuggle out of work.

"Here," I mutter under my breath, pressing two short reels of ethereal cellophane and gleaming astral into the demon's palm. Life stories, one might euphemistically call them. A slightly less controversial way to tell your husband you're off to give a demon stolen souls. "Two teenagers. Not particularly good kids. Died skydiving yesterday. That's all I could manage." Like some (gorgeous) double-agent from a James Bond movie, I cast a brief glance over my shoulder as I speak, perhaps expecting to find a hidden camera or an approaching enemy lurking in an abruptly shaded corner. But no—the room remains well-lit and camera-free; we're safe and alone in the curtained bedroom. And it helps that any evidence that might have damned us disappears less than an instant later, my fingers nearly snatched away as foggy irises flash a feral vermillion.

With a grimace that morphs my mouth into a disapproving frown, I muse on this whole bloody mess as Sebastian desperately feeds: hand pressed fully against his mouth as he swallows the spirits whole. Their consumption will barely make a difference, in the long run… I sigh again, raking a hand through my mussed pixie cut. "I can't keep this up, darling," I declare as I do so, the confession a gentle but firm chastisement. "You _have_ to tell the brat."

"…" Had he the energy to do so, the devil might have bothered to look displeased. As it is, he merely grunts. "…I can't ask for more than I already do," he then adds in hoarse protest, bottom lip quavering in selfless worry. It's rather of annoying, really; if he'd only act with more self-interest, like a good demon should… but old habits die hard, and Sebastian had been putting Ciel first since the eighteen hundreds. "He'll starve…"

" _You're_ going to starve, at this rate!" I snap in return, justifiably riled by my companion's thick-headedness. Stamping my foot, I unlace my folded arms in favor of flailing around, gesticulating wildly in a futile attempt to burn off anxious energy. "How can you not see that? You've told me of that scare you had at the Aurora—how can you not see that this is even _worse?_ You were only feeding one extra demon, then! How do you think you're going to survive this on what meager stores you have? This stunt of yours is going to kill you!"

My bluntness elicits the ghost of a glower, a wobbling expression framed by throbbing veins and powdery cheeks. His gaze accuses me of being a drama queen. And yes, usually I am. Not now. "How do you know…?" he nevertheless retorts, staring up at me with petulance. He and that brat are certainly two peas when it comes to stubbornness; it's enough to make me want to beat my head against the wall. But no, _somebody_ needs to keep her wits about. "I survived that… So how can you say in good faith that this will— …oh."

With disconcerting abruptness, the devil cuts himself off, seemingly without reason. Blinking once, he snuffles a chuckle; I slowly realize that his eyes have slid from my face, falling instead upon my handbag. I'd not yet closed its crimson cover flap— the leather-bound corner of my logbook peeps up at us through packets of tissues and replacement lipsticks. _Oh_ … "…that's right," Sebastian sniggers as I spit a muted curse, stuffing the bloody tome deep into the confines of my messy purse. This time, I make _certain_ it's entirely buried beneath old receipts and compacts. His gaze glints with further amusement as I proceed to toss the lot of it across the room—as if to bodily refute his suspicions—nearly hitting his precious cat in the process. Georgina retaliates by swiping her claws across the face of my two hundred dollar Gucci bag. She's lucky I have other things on my mind. "…yes, that's right. I forgot…"

The airy ease with which the condemned devil speaks only succeeds in further aggravating me. "I didn't mean it like—!" I begin to object, but his tranquil shrug steals the breath from my lungs, leaving me silent one more. Speechless. I can't help but blame his remorseless serenity for leeching my ire away, though I'm able, at least, to replace it with tenacious exasperation.

"It's alright. You can tell me… what's in your book," my friend gently reassures me, moving then to reassure the bitty creatures inside of him, as well. Rubbing soothing circles against the swell of his belly, I'm again struck by the unusual femaleness of his features: thicker lashes, longer forelocks, high cheekbones stained in a demure sort of blush. Not to mention that famous "glow"… it's all rather disarming in its novelty. Oblivious to my penetrating stare, the devil's hooded gaze remains locked upon his undulating stomach; the blind adoration in the expression is so intense, it leaves me feeling a bit nauseous. Not because I don't understand the sentiment… but because he looks so very pathetic. Helplessly pathetic. And my Sebastian— my Sebastian _especially_ —should never look like that. But despite this arguable truth, despite my worries and his mortality, the demon continues to grin: as if at some secret joke, the punch line of which lurks in the subtext of his murmured encouragements. "You don't need to… pretend for me. We both know… we're all able to die." A sidelong glance; suddenly his smile is for me alone. "Are you the one assigned to me…?"

The questions posed by his placid countenances are answered with sour scowl; I cross my arms as I glare down my nose at him, lips pulling back into a riled sneer.

"I'm not going to answer that."

The demon blinks slowly, genuinely confused. "Why…?" he presses, innocuously bewildered. As if I'd just refused him the most mundane of favors—denied him the use of an extra pen or snatched a spare napkin from his lap. Like I'm acting this way just to be a jerk. But that's not it. It's because—

Because…

 _Because it goes against the moral of the story_.

"Because it's not your business to know," I sigh, again scrubbing at my temples—as if vainly trying to dislodge an irritant. A painful thought, the thorn of a memory… Or maybe somehow claw his feeble voice from my brain. "I'm breaking enough rules as it is, Sebastian-darling. And it shouldn't even be relevant. You need to stop this."

It's Sebastian's turn to frown, now: forehead furrowing as he wraps protective arms around his middle. Like I'd really try something; I gave up stealing uteri a long time ago. "You can't ask me to do that…" he shoots back with a shaky snarl, thin lips quavering as our stalwart stares collide. "They're my offspring. My children, Grelle…"

"They're killing you." I'd think that'd be an unnecessary argument to make, seeing how incredibly apparent it is, but I guess it needs to be said. Not that my flat rebuttal does me any good; Sebastian's obstinacy remains as obvious to me as the aforementioned facts.

"Someone trying to kill me… has never stopped me from caring about them before," he grumpily reminds, his dour glare both barbed and pointed. Wonderful. Because I really needed to be guilt-tripped on top of everything else. I counter with an acrimonious pout, crossing my arms _and_ my legs in a show of discontentment.

"Bassie…"

My whine doesn't elicit an apology, but the notable _hurt_ in my eyes serves to soften his own. "…I'm not dead yet," he pronounces after a lengthy pause, gulping down a few shallow breaths in a fruitless attempt to steady his body and mind. The bed sags and screeches as he arches upwards a bit, trying to momentarily alleviate some of his pain; the attempt does little more than augment previous soreness. He hisses and keens, but nevertheless proclaims: "I can _do_ this. I got through… the six months without any problems…"

"Then during the six weeks," I coldly remind, "you collapsed. Regularly. Until you had to be bedridden."

I am ignored.

"Just another six days, now…" he finishes quietly, determination all but oozing from the reedy, half-rasped words. The demon's eyes are distant as he thinks on it, another delighted grin tweaking the corners of his lips. Next Friday. 'Friday's child is loving and giving,' promises the poem. I only hope they'll give their parents a chance. "My baby bird's newest Contract will end… on the same day," Sebastian further relates, as if I didn't already know. I wish it would end sooner—just a day sooner. Maybe if Ciel could see what he'd done… "Then we'll all be together. It will be okay…"

No. At this rate, it _won't._ "Sebastian, your body isn't built to endure something this!" I snap, too frustrated to maintain any semblance of composure. Never mind _my_ head—I wish I could bash _his_ against the wall. Maybe _that_ would beat some sense into him, or dislodge and knock the hubris out. "Look, I love them, too—they're supposed to be my godchildren, for goodness' sakes! But those twins of yours are leaching your life away, not to mention your power; you can't even maintain a single _gender_ anymore! You can't fucking _stand!_ How long do you think it'll be until you can't sustain a corporeal form _at all_?" As if to physically emphasize this, as well a few other significant details, my arms have gone back to flapping wildly: gesturing and jabbing as I stand and pace the watches my floundering blandly, his features unreadable. "We both know how demonic pregnancies work. Two are conceived, they fight for their resources, one surrenders and dies. Survival of the fittest; it prepares them for the outside world. It's been that way since the beginning. It keeps your gene pool strong and all of that crap. No one even _thinks_ about it, anymore— it's as natural as pregnancy itself! So why are you resisting? Dead babies are sad, but so are dead parents!"

In spite of being the one to demand that we all maintain a relative silence, my voice has leapt in pitch and volume; it actually might be more appropriate to call my caterwauling 'hysterical screeching' at this point. Finny, Ronnie, and Angel—all lingering somewhere beyond the bedroom—are no-doubt fully aware of our discussions, now… Perhaps that's why I can hear the indistinct echoes of the blonde encouraging my daughter to grab her coat; "let's go play outside before Mr. Sun goes away and the spring rains come back."

There is the distant, muffled slam of the front door.

And then the only sound in the whole apartment is of me swallowing thickly, trying to hold back a barrage of hot tears. I'm not very good at it; I sniffle and choke, blinking furiously at the ceiling as the salty water scalds the back of my eyes. I'm almost afraid I'll break down right there: just start sobbing and screaming like a child throwing a tantrum, because he's being _stupid_ and this situation is _dumb_ and _cruel_ and _not fair_ —

But my internal, bitter tirade is interrupted by the papery press of cold fingers against my clenched fist. I glance down to find Sebastian gingerly reaching for my hand, his expression full of concern. Not for his well-being, of course. But for mine. That bastard. For God's sake— demons aren't allowed to be so annoyingly altruistic!

"Grelle, please…" Sebastian husks, brow knitting as he wordlessly pleads for my patience, my understanding. After a few gallant tries, he successfully manages to hook his trembling digits around my wrist, tugging me weakly back towards the bed… I don't bother resisting. I sit when commanded, lie down when encouraged, and surrender myself to a one-armed hug when he gives it, curling up against his side.

"…he made an order," the devil then whispers, resting his cheek atop my crown. His free hand is back to trekking up and down the mountainous range of his belly, fingers trailing and thoughts meandering and lips beaming when unseen limbs try to follow his teasing progress. "They're a part of me… they're bound to obey."

Despite being, for the most part, placated by Sebastian's unusual show of affection, I can't help but snort in protest at this, pouting into the curve of my best friend's shoulder. "But the brat _didn't know_ what he was asking!" I desperately grouse, flicking a sidelong glance at Sebastian's unruffled profile. Still so pretty. And I know it's juvenile to think so, especially after having seen Sebastian take on so many forms over the centuries, but… it's still kind of weird. Maybe that was why he'd chosen to maintain his male form for as long as he had. For as long as was possible, anyway. "He _still_ doesn't know. Because he had to leave before you got… sick. Because he hasn't seen the damage his order has done. Because you won't let us tell him. Because _you_ won't tell him."

"I don't want to lose either of them," Sebastian counters impassively, clearly growing tired of this fight. Or maybe just tired in general. Either would be understandable, but not enough to make me shut up. "Neither does Ciel. Isn't _that_ normal? Even if it goes against my biology… is it not natural to want to keep one's child alive?"

"But at what cost?" I rebuttal in kind, flopping over on the bed so as to properly glare up at the demon: unframed eyes peeping across the camber of his chest. He cocks a mirthful brow at my sullen antics; I suppose it is sort of funny to be debating about children so childishly. But I don't care. "He doesn't want to lose _you_ , either. And at this rate, he's going to. He's going to lose _all three_ of you."

I'd have assumed that such a foreboding announcement—bequeathed by the likes of a reaper, no less—might have elicited some form of morbid awe from the demon… a respectful hush or something. But no. Sebastian's chuckle makes it clear that he thinks nothing of my warnings. If anything, he seems to believe I'm being melodramatic again. "Oh, I'm not going to die…" he repudiates lightly, and I can't help but marvel at how utterly nonchalant he is about the entirety of this situation. Really, he'd shown more distress over his inability to join Angel and Ron inside of the latter's new My Little Pony tent (due to present size) than he did my warnings about his impending and ultimate demise. "None of us are going to die."

Hubris again. It makes me want to scream. Fighting that urge, I instead allow my mouth to contort into its umpteenth frown, gracing my companion with a cynical scoff. "Are you _quite_ sure about that?" I frostily press, response wry and sardonic. But for as much emotion as I jam-pack into each of my rejoinders, the devil remains equivalently calm; rather than spit back some clever riposte, Sebastian instead waits for a moment—for my breathing to even again, I figure— before carefully taking my hand.

"Yes," he then steadily returns, dislodging my clenched fist from his side. In lieu of a more volatile show of resistance, I grumble a grunt in his direction— one that loses any semblance of virulence as the demon urges my curled fingers loose. Once he has excavated my palm, he presses it carefully against his warm belly… and almost immediately, two unseen hands press eagerly back, as if trying to play patty-cake with me.

I tense; I gasp. I can feel my pulse quicken, and my heart melt, and _damn_ _him_ for knowing my weakness…

Perhaps he hadn't lost his 'demonic touch' as much as I'd thought.

"I won't die… because you won't let me," Sebastian murmurs tenderly, wholly confirming my growing suspicions. His free hand moves to cover my own, keeping it pinned against his rolling stomach. "You won't let us."

Really. Damn him. "It's my _job_ , darling…" I half-heartedly protest, convincing absolutely no one of my conviction on this matter. As much as I've been trying to suppress my giddy thoughts about baby clothes and new toys and playmates for Angel, I can feel those sunny hopes and daydreams return with a vengeance as the twins, again, move against me, so full of life. So close to their birthday. Just six days…

Surely I can bend the rules for them for just six more days…

As if somehow able to hear these thoughts (and I guess it wouldn't surprise me if he could), Sebastian sighs a scratchy chortle, relaxing against his pillows in the wake of a well-earned victory. He pats my hand, thankful, but still a bit condescending in his amusement. "You've never done your job properly before…" he then mellifluously murmurs, closing his eyes in preparation for a much-needed nap. "I can't imagine a reason… you'd start doing so now."

The wispy comeback drifts off, much like the demon's consciousness; Sebastian falls into a slumber that more closely resembles a coma than a nap. It might soon become the former, to be honest. And for the third time, damn him.

As the woman here, _I'm_ the one who's supposed to always be right.

**XXX**


	3. In Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He leaves a note. Just in case.

**Disclaimer:** Nooooope.

 **Author's Note:** Like I said before. Just bouncing around. Writing in chronological order is over-rated. 8D

 **Warnings:** Part of the "Bicentennial" series; takes place a few months after "Return," but explains events in "Right." SebaCiel. M-preg (sorta). XD; Oh—and someone on requested CielxSeba, so I tried to make this a touch more graphic than originally intended. Still not as shippy as it could have been, in that regard, but… I tried? ^^; Maybe more later. :'D Crap editing skills activate~

**XXX**

**In Case**

**XXX**

**2:54 AM**

Devils didn't need sleep, of course. It was, like many other things—eating, drinking, and breathing being prime examples—considered a sort of luxury for those residing in the Middle realm. Indulging in any such superfluity to excess was seen by their kind as an embodiment of gluttony; pampering oneself with sleep was just as gratuitous, as, say, goring on a cake. Sinful, really.

But that was the whole point. They were demons; their lives revolved around the desirous, the excessive. It made for a wonderful excuse; an easy way to vindicate greediness. Not that such creatures needed a reason to justify their actions— certainly not Ciel Phantomhive, anyway. Though he, perhaps, was a special case: even as a human, he had always been one to pamper himself with extravagances. When mortal, he'd mostly been spoiled on bon-bons and caramels; as a devil, his tastes remained much the same, but with slumber higher on the list of unnecessary priorities.

Which was why it was so odd for him to be awake at 3 AM.

With a forlorn sigh, hand raking through his disheveled locks, an unusually grim Ciel stared at his blackberry, his contorted face (pursed lips, furrowed brow) illuminated by the wraith-like eeriness of his glowing indigo touch-screen. He hadn't needed his ringtone's faint _ding_ to alert him to the message he now stared at—he had felt it deep within: the rare, insistent _tug_ of a lost soul praying. Praying to the wrong deity, perhaps, but praying nevertheless. Calling out. Beseeching. Summoning.

A legitimate summoning.

He almost hadn't recognized the hook-in-the-heart sensation; for years, now, he and Sebastian had been feeding on the spirits of those who'd downloaded the plethora of free internet applications he'd invented. (No one ever took the time to read the _entirety_ of a service agreement, after all.) In a world like this, run by skeptics and non-believers, this sort of revision on the idea of a Contract had become virtually essential… But those spirits were only available for consumption after a user had died, and only if they'd found his data packages and programs completely satisfactory. (Desperate or not, even Ciel had his aesthetics.) And with so many hospitals and specialty clinics littered about, there for the sole purpose (no pun intended) of keeping these nitwit humans alive, well— he and Sebastian weren't starving, for once, but they weren't exactly feasting, either. Not on the fare that they needed, anyway. And it _was_ fare that they needed— _really_ needed— because…

"Little one…?"

With no further warning, the kitchen lights flicked on; the dark space was flooded with a warm golden glow, dimming the intensity of his phone. For a moment, the brightness burned his at his retinas; Ciel blinked rapidly, fighting the urge to squint against the pain. But soon enough, his gaze adjusted, and he looked up to find Sebastian—a hand still splayed across the switch— leaning wearily against the spackled jamb, visibly groggy. One lid still closed, as if trying to trap what vestiges of sleep he could, the elder demon yawned, cocking his head in a display of confusion. "Baby bird," he then croaked, shuffling—waddling, really— out of the hall and sinking into the chair beside his husband, "what are you doing out of bed…? Did I accidentally kick you again…?"

Lacy lashes lolling, silky hair unusually long, Sebastian's pale face searched Ciel's for an answer, willowy fingers falling woozily against the swell of his belly. Just over five months into his pregnancy, and the demon already looked about to burst. Literally, at times. Not just because the creatures he carried were so incredibly exuberant, but because his porcelain skin had, slowly but surely, become wan and paper-thin— cheeks steadily growing gaunt. He insisted that he was fine, of course, and made a point of acting as if that were the case, but Ciel wasn't stupid; he'd noticed the way Sebastian desperately scarfed down human food, as if that might take the edge off of his true hunger. He was aware of how much rest the demon had come to require, when before he'd generally slumbered to stave off boredom or solitude. (Or because Ciel wanted to.) But most telling of all was his appearance: the feminine edge it had started to take when the devil wasn't consciously controlling his façade. Now, for example, just after waking: a bit shorter, and with thinner features, Sebastian was recognizably himself, but looked more like his mother, Lilith, than ever. The former butler didn't yet seem to realize that he was having a "wardrobe malfunction," as he'd taken to calling them—a moment when he failed to realize that his body was misbehaving, taking on a form "more natural" for his circumstance. Ciel didn't mind the guise, really… only Sebastian's inability to regulate it. Only what it said about his husband's stores of energy. That they were depleting. Rapidly.

And so they _really_ needed food. Because he was not about to let Sebastian—or his children— suffer the pains of starvation. Not again.

Not again.

Sebastian's fingers clenched a bit atop his tummy, tangling in his nightshirt as he skimmed the screen of the phone that Ciel wordlessly offered. The younger devil's inbox was opened to the newest of his messages: a response to one of his many wheedling web posts. Craig's list, amazon, tumblr, google… invitations to join in a Covenant with him had long-since been littered about the internet, and now festered in its bowels— just waiting for the desperate to stumble upon and try to buy his services. This particular email had been sent through eBay; the potential purchaser's intentions must have been genuine, if their internal torment had been enough to wake Ciel from a dead sleep.

Saying nothing, Sebastian gingerly set the blackberry upon the frosty tabletop, sliding it back towards his partner. His expression was unreadable, but in so being, Ciel could tell he wasn't pleased. And no, he couldn't blame him—the prospect distressed him, too—, but…

"…we need this," Ciel reminded softly, pointedly. Reaching out, he placed his hands over his butler's, palms stroking the curve of the other's squirming belly. Cradling it. Caressing it, tender and reverent. Attentive little creatures, the babies within nudged against their parents' touch, their cheery curiosity out-of-place in the world beyond the womb. Not that they could know that… Not that they could see Sebastian's eyes gleaming baleful vermillion in the lamplight, hormones exacerbating disappointment and turning it into frustration and hurt.

"Are you _that_ hungry?" the elder bitterly demanded, voice rasped and low from lack of use. He had been sleeping for quite some time; he coughed to clear what felt like cobwebs from the back of his constricting throat. "I told you, you needn't feed me every day. I could abstain from a snack or two, if—"

He was interrupted by a shake of the head.

" _I'm_ not the hungry one," the once-earl then intoned, his husked rebuke gentle, but firm. Standing, but with his hands still holding Sebastian's heavy stomach, Ciel closed what little space remained between them: leaning over the round of their babies and bumping against his husband's nose with his own. An Eskimo kiss of sorts, forcing the pouting devil to look his way once more. "And you know it."

"…"

Sebastian's lips—pinched into a thin line—trembled weakly at the mild reproof, his scowl and gaze wobbling like his chin. Swallowing thickly, he lifted one hand to cup Ciel's cheek, embracing his lover despairingly; their foreheads and temples met, nudging together in an amorous sort of nuzzle. "…I know. I know, but…"

 _But I want you to stay. I'd_ rather _have you stay._

He didn't need to say it. Ciel knew—had known all along, really, the reason why Sebastian had risked his comfort, his health. But…

 _This isn't about what we_ want _. It's about what we_ need. _What_ they _need._

He didn't need to say that, either. Sebastian was aware—they were both aware. Well aware. And since they didn't need their mouths for speaking, then, Ciel employed them for another use entirely: a desperate kiss, fingers twining around the base of his lover's pallid neck. The other knotted in shaggy locks, already mussed and growing messier; he felt an arm curl around his shoulders in kind, dull nails raking down the length of his back, catching on the ridges of his spine. Possessive and pleading, holding tighter and tighter— not wanting to let go…

**6:28 AM**

…and so he didn't let go: not once, all night. Whether it be wrist, thigh, breast, hip; at some physical point, their bodies met. Ciel wasn't sure how they made it back to their bed, intertwined as they were— wasn't certain where their pajamas had wound up, or where he might find them this morning. It didn't matter. Not then: with Sebastian propped up on his hands and knees, cheeks flushed as he keened wantonly, moaned ardently, his fingers woven through his master's and pressed against his bulging sides. Not now: with Sebastian supine, lethargic, and barely-awake, head supported by pillows as he watched Ciel dress himself in Darkness, joints sweetly throbbing in the wake of carnal pleasures.

But still, he found it difficult to smile.

"…how long?" the once-servant eventually managed, the query weak and waffled. He wasn't wholly sure he wanted to know the answer, and so the question was little more than a breath in the pre-dawn air. Still, Ciel managed to hear it over the _swish_ of shadows he coiled around his neck; it echoed, much like the pin-drop clatter of heels against the floor. And though Sebastian couldn't smile, his tamer did: a melancholy sort of grin, one that ached with poignant loneliness. They weren't even apart yet, and…

"It will end on the Equinox," Ciel murmured, pausing in his preparations for his husband's sake. Padding over to the rumpled bedside, he lowered himself to sit beside Sebastian—poised on the edge of the mattress as he again took hold of the other's hand. Breathing a kiss against its back, he nestled into the warmth of that alabaster flesh, clinging to his beloved as if this was all that he wanted in the world. And it was. It really was. But the world was not so simple a place… "I timed it… I'll be back before they're born. I promise you. I promise the three of you."

The not-boy widened his grin a bit, gazing adoringly at the demon in his bed. The hand that wasn't clasped around Sebastian's moved to ghost over his husband's rounded middle, tracing flittering butterfly patterns up and over, down and back. He only wished to care for them, to protect them. To keep all three of them safe… "…so you promise me something too, alright?" he thus continued in a whisper, trailing fingers dancing to the delicate curve of Sebastian's chin. With a fluttering caress, he brushed stray strands of hair from the other's pretty face; his blue eyes glittered lilac and scarlet, but did not lose the unfathomable, oceanic depths of navy-hued ardor. "Promise that you'll be alright without me here. That all of you will be okay while I'm away."

_It's an order._

Against Ciel's cheek, his demon's Contract marker flared: burning as hot as the blazing blushes and smoldering touches they'd enjoyed mere hours before. The feel of it widened Sebastian's hooded eyes, his fingers tensing against his partner's somber face— as if startled that such a request had been deigned necessary. As if taken aback by the magnitude of his master's anxieties. Or… or as if legitimately frightened.

"…my lord, I…" A pause. The devil floundered a bit, worrying his bottom lip in much the same fashion as his husband did when fretting. For a time, he seemed unable to meet Ciel's probing eyes—his stare instead darting to the far wall, then to the window, then to his own belly, and the beautiful mount of it: pink and golden slats of sunlight seeping through the plastic curtains and warming his sallow skin. "I've been meaning to… to talk to you about the twins. I—"

Further hesitation; his gaze slid from his abdomen to his master— the master who was watching Sebastian struggle for words with near-palpable concern, expression contorting in escalating confusion. He couldn't hear them, perhaps, but the devil could sense his tamer's brain buzz with a barrage of new questions: Had such a vow been too much to ask? Why? What was wrong? What was the matter? Had he missed something? Had he offended his lover in some way? They _would_ be alright, wouldn't they?

…wouldn't they?

A minute passed, and still, Sebastian said nothing. But in the place of words, he smiled: a soothing beam, meant to bolter and reassure. Pressing a kiss of his own to Ciel's fragile knuckles, then to the metal of his husband's wedding band—the cool silver glimmering ethereally in the ruddy glow of daybreak—, the devil nodded in a show of temporarily-delayed agreement. It was a reassuring sight, to be sure, but… Why had his agreement been delayed at all? What wasn't he saying? What was he hiding? To this end, Ciel opened his mouth to inquire and investigate, but— "…I've thought of names for them, by the way. I thought you might want to know… before leaving. Just in case."

Ah. So that was it. He'd been distracted. And had, in the process, managed to effectively distract Ciel.

"'Just in case?' In case of what?" the not-boy demanded, grinning around a mellifluous chortle. Always histrionic, his husband… always so serious. Dipping low, Ciel pressed a lingering kiss to Sebastian's forehead, trying to lighten the gloomy mood. "In case, when I call you three, I should like to address them both directly? As—dare I say it—individuals?"

"You wouldn't _want_ to do that?" the other immediately retorted, sound a bit tired, but still wryly playful. Whatever murky musings had before clouded over his eyes had since cleared, like a storm passing; he sniffed, instead donning a semblance of mock offence. "It's rude, you know. To refer to them as Things 1 and 2."

"But that would make _you_ the Cat in the Hat. I'd have thought you'd like that."

"You know Georgina hates other cats."

The younger demon smirked a bit, very tempted to laugh. Joke or not, Sebastian seemed legitimately put-out by such a thought… Which, in the end, lead Ciel to instead counter with a defensive scoff, choking down his bubbling mirth. "Oh, don't be so uptight. It's an _allusion_ , not an insult."

"It's laziness." But though the flat correction was sardonic, it was not without a touch of humor. Thank goodness, too; it gave Ciel leeway to succumb to his own burbling delight. He did so with another little smile.

"Or maybe I just never had reason to call them anything else. You'd made no previous indication that you had any ideas for names," Ciel reminded, resting his head against the crook of his husband's shoulder. Already swaddled in otherworldly blackness, the heat of his body was lost to Sebastian; all the same, the latter cuddled close, close, close, as if afraid of letting go. Terrified of saying goodbye. Because…

…because…

"…Asmus. For our daughter," the devil quietly proclaimed, bare feet temporarily twining around the boots beside him in bed. "And Toth. Toth for our son."

The discreet declaration hung between them in the hazy air, assertive and certain. The sounds of a mind made up, and not easily swayed. Which wasn't necessarily a _bad_ thing, no, but still— Sebastian was initially met by a roomful of silence. A hush not of disagreement, perhaps, but certainly one of mild bewilderment. "Those are… unusual names," Ciel eventually commented, though he did seem more charmed than critical. Bracing himself on the crook of his elbow, the not-child again repositioned himself: turning to meet his lover's eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike them. They're… unique. But do they, I don't know, mean anything…? To you, or…?"

"…"

His answer was another grin: enigmatic this time, as was Sebastian's specialty. "…I suppose if you wish to know that," the elder demon then teased, his retort an evanescent breath against Ciel's looming face, "you'll have to come back and meet them, won't you?"

"…do you think I wouldn't otherwise…?" The once-earl cocked an eyebrow, wearing a mask of imitated umbrage to match his lover's pseudo-sulk.

"You might allow yourself to be… detained."

"Nonsense," Ciel retorted flippantly, flashing a Cheshire grin that would make a certain capped kitty jealous. In an equally feline display, he proceeded to burrow his nose against the other's nape, then cheek, then temple—twisting his head so that his lips, too, might whisper dotingly against pinking skin… "I'd make it back to you by plane or by train, in sunshine or in rain. I'd find you lot were you hiding in a box, or under rocks, or with a fox…"

Sebastian snorted, though the satirical lilt he'd wished to accentuate was undermined by unvoiced, effervescent giggles. "How about an angel?" he nevertheless pressed, leering with delight when his beloved's features soured a touch.

"…mmm, I might take issue with that."

The confession was met with another laugh, honeyed and melodic—silenced only by the feather-brush of parted lips: a sigh, a creak, a groan. The piss-poor rhyme was punctuated by one last kiss, followed by just one more, then one for the road… and soon the pair was tangled and tousled again: grinding and gasping and giving and getting and if someone was crying, neither fully noticed.

**9:29 AM**

The apartment was quiet. A rarity, really, what with how often the boisterous reapers came to visit, and Georgina's usual yowling, and Finny's propensity for singing while he worked. It was almost disarming, in that respect; haunting, in a way. Not a good way. But knowing that, in all likelihood, things would go back to their usual rowdiness within the hour made it bearable.

Or something akin to bearable, at least.

Nevertheless, for now, it was only Sebastian. Sebastian and his unborn children, seated once more in the immaculate kitchen. The overhead lights hummed, the refrigerator whirred, the sink dripped; the morning had come full circle, ending where it'd begun. But rather than a cell phone before him on the tabletop, the demon had instead obtained a single sheet of stationary, and an envelope marked with his husband's name. For a time, the former servant poured over the thick paper, pen in one hand and the other rubbing against his distended belly— trying to tame the inquisitive creatures that bumped against the ledge, wanting to know what, exactly, was poking into their host, their home. The devil chuckled faintly at their exploratory antics, watching his stomach twitch about with a gaze as soft as velour.

And when that telling gaze shifted once more—his focus returning briefly to the message he'd composed—, it lost none of its velveteen affection. Rather, it grew warmer still: gaining a glistening gloss that Sebastian refused to acknowledge or name. He didn't want to. Didn't _need_ to. _These_ names were enough— enough to explain everything.

_Asmus: "To love."_   
_Toth: "Death."_

Demons couldn't lie, and this was the ultimate truth. His ultimate truth: the only one that mattered. Slipping the brief note into its envelope, Sebastian sealed it, set it aside, and gave his babies the best (and, likely, only) hug he could: arms coiled around his midriff and head lowered against his chest.

"…just in case you ever wondered."

_I love you._

**XXX**


	4. Waste Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantomhive family takes a bath.

**Disclaimer:** As always, no.

 **Author's Note:** I'll probably regret posting this later— when I look back and notice about 32942349023 other spelling/grammar mistakes—, but for now, I really just need it out of my life. 8D;;;

In other news, we needed more fluff. :3 Thanks to the fuckyeahsebastianxciel tumblr blog for shooting this idea my way~ \8D/ 

**Warnings:** Part of the "Bicentennial"/"666" collection. M-preg (kinda), SebaCiel (really). Does fluff need a warning? Edited quickly, because I just need it out of my life, at this point. XD;; Written as a desperate attempt to distract myself from the bittersweet ending of "Devilish Impulses," lawlz. I AM PATHETIC. 8D;

**XXX**

**Waste Not**

**XXX**

**7:32 PM**

"Is there a word or phrase for something similar to déjà vu, only instead of happening exactly as it once had, you find yourself in an opposing or purely opposite position to the one originally held?"

Perched lightly on the ledge of the plastic bath, fingers lazily tracing the caulked rim of the inset tub, Ciel paused and considered his husband's casual question. He hummed, he mulled; his mismatched eyes glanced thoughtfully upward, as if he might find an answer dangling from the rafters like asbestos. But fortunately (or unfortunately, depending), the ceiling had neither one currently in supply. "If not, there should be," the once-earl then decreed, tone conversationally flat as his hand again dipped towards the running faucet. The water temperature was checked against his wrist, and once he found it satisfactorily warm, Ciel set the tub stopper and returned his fingers to their dancing. The soft pads glided a bit more easily now, slickened and wet; on the other end of the tiled room, a second set of hands were moving about in equally idle patterns. "What you just said was terribly cumbersome, after all. Doesn't roll off the tongue nearly so easily as to catch on."

"Well, it'd catch on the tongue, if nothing else," Sebastian returned—not without humor—as he lounged like a king atop the (rather appropriately dubbed) porcelain throne. Much like his fledgling lover, the once-butler's palms were slipping and sliding over a smooth, pale surface. In his case, however, that surface was his distended belly, and the two-month swell that cradled their unborn children. Early though it was in his pregnancy, it was still a notable bulge; since he was carrying twins, Sebastian was quick to point out, he'd started to show twice as fast as he might've otherwise. Of course, that hadn't been _nearly_ enough to stop the others from teasing him for his "excessive weight gain." ("Thank God we're not sharing a bunk bed now— you'd break the base." Shut up, Mister Ice Cream Bonanza Waffle Set. "Have you seen my bowling ball—? Oh, I suppose you mistook it for a melon." Very funny, Finnian. But don't quit your day job. "Dude, you should invest in a cow costume. You know, since you're a heifer!" Get off the countertop, Ronald. "Ooo, make it a pink one! It'll match your new naughty-bits." You too, Grell.) Rather than infect him with any feelings of bodily shame, however, the accumulating abuse had made the devil very eager to shed his shirt: as if keen to prove to Ciel (and the rest of the oblivious world) that he was _pregnant_ , dammit, and not fat. There was a difference.

"See?" he had encouraged— or, more accurately, demanded— in tones of justified delight, tossing a neatly folded top towards the dirty laundry hamper. (A hideous thing, it was: floral and airy, like something one expected to find in a Hawaiian tourist trap. But it was from Brazil, in truth: a present from his brother, and now one of the few things that Sebastian could wear comfortably. Much to his chagrin. He and Grelle were in dire need of a maternity-clothes shopping spree.) "My skin has so little melanin, at this point, I am as translucent as a window. If you squint, you can almost see them in there."

In reply, Ciel had smiled, and knelt, and had done just that: narrowed his eyes at the gentle roundness of Sebastian's ballooning stomach, examining the skin that had grown taut over both babies and hip bones. He wasn't quite as successful as Sebastian seemed to be at locating their developing darlings, but when he pressed his own palms to the swell, he could have sworn he felt a faint flurry of movement. It was a perfect match for the warm flutter of his heart.

"I'm likely imagining it," he'd quickly tacked on to his subsequent confession, cheeks flushing in embarrassment at his own eagerness to connect with his children. The not-boy knew little of pregnancies, demonic in nature or otherwise, but it'd only been 66 days; he was fairly certain it was still too early to legitimately feel _anything_ , even with his heightened senses. Sebastian, however, had beamed with excitement upon the initial admission, and brushed the latter half of it away with a dismissive, "I've been able to feel them since they were no bigger than peas."

Sometimes, Ciel failed to realize how much Sebastian had rubbed off on him over the years (in ways other than the literal); such revelations often struck him the hardest when he felt inclined to respond to things with terrible puns. In this case, something about the twins being "two peas in a pod." Through some herculean effort, he managed to choke down the horrible joke, and instead grinned warmly, indulgently, as Sebastian placed his slender hands over his master's and used them to caress the circumference of his—their— precious bump. The babies were now the size of tadpoles, the elder demon cooed, lashes fluttering over downcast eyes as together they stroked his sensitive flesh. "Glad to hear they're the aquatic sort," Ciel had purred, unable to resist this time, "as it's bath time for the little froggies, too."

Which brought them back to the present, waiting on the water. Ciel's husband had seated himself primly on the lidded toilet, arms resting regally atop his belly: almost daring someone (read: Ronald) to call him a cow again. Hormones had Sebastian occasionally (and suddenly) taking to heart words that he shouldn't and normally wouldn't; still, it'd be a lie to say that the small vestiges of ruffled pride didn't amuse the once-earl: a harmless form of schadenfreude after spending multiple lifetimes living and loving the personification of immaculate perfection. He would have reassured his lover if he thought he truly needed it, but knew that he didn't. Sebastian was fully aware that, as far as his husband was concerned, his appearance was of no matter at all; he had taken many, many forms over their many, many years, but Sebastian was Sebastian, and thus beautiful regardless. Really, the extra weight only served to enhance that truth, in Ciel's eyes: he took a raw, almost-feral sort of pleasure from watching the devil's midriff swell to house _his_ offspring, and drew contentment from Sebastian's palpable satisfaction with his condition. The whole of the other's flawless body had gained the healthy glow reserved for those endowed with the blessing of pregnancy, and both demons relished it. Celebrated it, too, when Sebastian wheedled enough. Or if Ciel decided that a bit of exercise would do them both good.

"It is still a trifle strange to watch you bustle around on my behalf, performing the tasks that used to be my duties," Sebastian admitted, wearing a rueful sort of grin. His black-tip toes—bear of socks—flexed and curled, catching on the edges of his sweatpants. Restless, as well as a touch sheepish. "I am not incapacitated yet, you know—I could still easily draw a bath of my own. There's no need for you to go out of your way."

Exercise was not on today's schedule.

"I told you," Ciel returned brusquely, shooting his demon the same pointed stare that he'd once used on another Sebastian in his life. ( _Sit. Stay. Good boy_.) "I want you to relax, and I meant it. This isn't just about you, anymore, and running yourself ragged isn't good for the babies."

"Twisting a few nozzles hardly qualifies as exerting one's self," Sebastian countered, snorting a bit in response to his husband's unfounded worries. A roll of the eyes was accompanied by an intentionally dramatic sigh. "To think you're the same little creature who used to demand that I take _bullets_ on his behalf… Now you won't even let me use the bathroom on my own."

"If you miss getting shot at, I promise to use you for target practice just as soon as the babies are born," the young devil calmly retorted, unfazed by implications of past cruelties. It'd been a different time, after all. Back then, asking Sebastian to take a hit for him was like asking a pincushion to get stuck: there was no point, because that's what both were there for. But now… "Until then, house rule number one is in effect: no getting knocked down when already knocked up. Besides," the once-earl continued blandly, slipping off the ledge to rummage around in the cupboard beneath the sink, "I was going to bathe, anyway. We can share the water. So I want to hear no more about it— obstinacy is an unattractive quality."

"If that's true, then why have I always found you so utterly irresistible?" the elder devil all but purred, a mirthful lilt to the teasing words as he watched Ciel scrounge about: on all fours in his bee-and-cupcake-print boxers. His grin gained a predatorily pleased edge when that rump gave an involuntary wriggle.

"Because I am not stubborn, I am _right_. There is a difference." Cool and impassive, ignoring the clatter of shaving cream cans, the not-boy finally located the box and bottle for which he'd been hunting. Sitting back on his haunches, Ciel lifted the brightly-colored containers, one rattling and the other gurgling as he gave them gentle shakes. "Would you prefer salts or bubbles?"

Sebastian didn't even need to think about it.

"Bubbles." Obviously. It was much easier to craft grand cityscapes and sculpt looming towers with bubbles than it was with half-disintegrated grains of salt. Not that he couldn't do it with either, but… "Do we still have apple blossom scent?"

"Hmmm… No, sorry. This is lavender." Ciel shrugged apologetically as he untwisted the plastic cap, pouring a sizable dollop of the sudsy soap into the filling tub. The churning bath turned momentarily lilac, then began spitting up bubbles. "It's just as well. Lavender is supposed to relax you." The water-level had been rising steadily for the past few minutes; the foam atop the crystalline surface frothed, expanding, as the fragrance of flowers blossomed around their heads. Best to climb in now, lest the laws of displacement ruin another mat. Boxers and sweatpants were elegantly kicked to the side. "Come on, then…"

One knee on the ledge, the other braced outside of the bath, Ciel reached out to Sebastian, offering his hand. Poised as he was, he almost looked an archaic footman, bowing before his husband. Aww… The fledgling sure knew how to make a long-feared, millennia-old, soul-eating spawn-of-darkness-and-Hellfire feel like a pampered princess. Placing his palm atop Ciel's with his usual grace, a pink-faced Sebastian allowed himself to be lead to the tub.

"There _are_ better ways to relax me, you know," he couldn't help but tease (or whine, depending), as his little one helped him clamor into the water, and then ease into its warmth. The once-earl wasn't far behind, lowering himself into the suds and wetness opposite of Sebastian. He set a rubber duck adrift, then snorted as he stemmed the faucet's flow.

"We're here to get clean, not dirtier."

"How about after, then?"

"We'd have to wash again. It'd be a waste of water."

"We've yet to reach this month's Evil Quota…"

"…we'll see."

The elder demon perked visibly at his lover's tentative promise; his delight was infectious, and soon Ciel was beaming, too. "Well," the not-boy then hummed, playful in his pleasure as his begrudging smile slipped into a smirk. "Since this bath is, in essence, now only for show… we might as well make a spectacle of it, hm?" He giggled, lashes lowering seductively, and indulged himself in a trifle more teasing. Sloshing forward, he placed a butterfly kiss against Sebastian's temple, collar bone, sternum… and then brought a swift hand to the other's flushing face, leaving a foaming beard and mustache in his wake.

"—?" At the abrupt assault, Sebastian bodily jolted, sneezing as the bubbles tickled his nose. An instant later, the tickle had migrated south; before he had a chance to compose himself, he was squeaking and shivering, smudging his frothing facial as Ciel dipped low enough to press a loud, wet raspberry to his distended belly.

"There. You three are certainly a spectacle now," the once-earl sang as he pulled away, smearing a soapy smiley face upon the round of that swelling stomach. Even as he drew them, the googley eyes began dripping; their residue was soon catching in a navel. As if in afterthought, Ciel melded that mess into his masterpiece, as well: formed a mustache out of it, and then added a bubbly bearded. For continuity's sake.

"Careful, now," Sebastian warned wryly, even as he grinned down at his tummy. He snickered when he realized it was grinning right back. "Do much more, and this will constitute a proper bath. We _do_ want to waste this water, don't we?"

"I think _you're_ the one who wants to do that. In addition to other things."

"Really? You're not similarly tempted? Not even a bit? But I'm wearing my most fetching smile," Sebastian jested, pointing at his decorated belly. The lathered leer was already half-melted, contorting into something disproportional and distended. And derpy. "If this doesn't seduce you, I've no idea what will."

A snort. "Indeed. It's so beautiful that you'd think somebody painted it on." Chuckling once more, Ciel's hands usurped Sebastian's previous placement, as well as their pastime: smoothing and rubbing and lavishing love upon their unborn children. The smile he'd doodled for them faded, but the one on his own mouth grew. Gained teeth, even, after a jolt, a double blink, and a breathy gasp of glee. "Oh! Oh, I _know_ I felt something, there…! Did you—?"

Urgently excited, like a tot on Christmas morning, Ciel lifted his glittering gaze, seeking confirmation from the other. Sebastian, in turn, practically glowed with affirmation and love, his own eyes as soft as the surrounding bubbles. He had, of course, felt the same: a twitch of minute limbs against his inner walls, as weak and beautiful as the flicker of a butterfly's wing. Or, as it were, the tail of a tadpole. "They are lively little froggies, yes?" he chortled, giving his side a heartening pat. "As is only natural, as children of Phantomhive."

Yes.

"As is only natural…" Ciel echoed— agreed— quietly, as he pressed a ruddy cheek to the mound. His eyes fluttered shut; the rubber ducky drifted by. Sebastian lowered his lashes as well, chin against his chest, as he once more covered his husband's hands with his own, luxuriating in the moment: soaking in the warmth of the fragrant bath, as well as the powerful sensation of contentment washing over him. It had returned, that oddly familiar feeling: nostalgia that tottered on the edge of a strange sense of déjà vu. Reminiscent of the days when he had waited on the _outside_ of the tub, desperately loving the young boy who sat within it… The many years he carried that little one so carefully in his arms, rather than his womb.

Cracking an eye open, rust-colored gaze falling upon the hoary head of his lover, the elder demon, again, smiled. The memories—much like this moment—were so sweet. With his free hand, Sebastian combed tenderly through those silvery locks, heart all but melting when Ciel rewarded him with a purr.

In the end, no water was wasted. Which was just as well, both devils mused, for nothing about this felt like a waste.

**XXX**


	5. Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone craves a taste of Heaven. In ice cream form, if nothing else.

**Disclaimer:** I own so little it's scary.

**Author's Note:** A derpy idea I came up with after Maddie was kind enough to treat me to ice cream. Thank you for the fooooooood, Maddie. :'D Also for the art you drew to accompany this fic! ( **http(colon)(double slash) .com(slash)tumblr(underscore)** )

**Warnings:** URIEL. URIEL. URIEL. /chanting. Gratuitous head-canon-ing. I guess references to "Diligo," too, sorta? But also "Hitches and Knots." SebaCiel; mentions of SebaOC. ALSO ICE CREAM. Part of the "Bicentennial" series. Dialogue fic because I'm lazy and Sebastian and Uriel won't STFU.

**XXX**

**Sweet**

**XXX**

**1:27 PM**

"I knew I'd find you here."

"Of course you _knew_. How could you not, being omnipotent?

"It would not take magic to find you, nowadays. All anyone would have to do is look for the closest dispenser of food."

"Are you calling me fat?"

"Of course not. You are pregnant. Some pudge is to be expected."

"For the five _hundredth_ time, I am not _fat_. The roundness is the babies, not _me._ "

"The babies and these weekly trips to the ice cream shop."

"I do not come here _that_ oft—! …just don't tell anyone."

"Do not tell Ciel, you mean."

"Obviously."

"You know that I would be more than willing to pick up any flavor from the store, should you but ask."

"I am not yet incapacitated. Besides, I cannot find this flavor elsewhere."

"Oh? And what flavor is that?"

"…you know perfectly well. I am not about to say it."

"Perhaps I find it difficult to believe. That even _you_ miss it, every once in a while."

"Really? That I might hanker for a little taste of Heaven? Surely it's not _that_ impossible to fathom. After all, as a demon, should I not naturally crave that which is forbidden to me?"

"If Heaven was truly what you desired, I doubt you would derive any satisfaction from vanilla ice cream with marshmallow and white chocolate bits. Despite the pretty name."

"…"

"You have always enjoyed bittersweet souls, little one. I suppose the taste of nostalgia is similar…?"

"Am I not allowed to reminisce, every once in a while?"

"Certainly you are. It is the prerogative of all self-aware beings. Though I cannot imagine in what ways your current life might fall short. Why waste time on the past when your future is so bright?"

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't say that. Just be quiet. You know this will kill me, Uriel."

"…"

"...I wouldn't change this. Any of this. Not for the world. You are aware of that, yes?"

"Of course I am. Never have I paid witness to anything truer."

"…but still. There is always one path—one path that would have changed everything, had you taken it. And sometimes, when you are—"

"Hormonally and emotionally imbalanced?"

"— _nostalgic_ , you find yourself wondering what might have happened, had you gone right, rather than left."

"May I ask what you imagine might have been waiting for you on the right?"

"…it is not so much that anything new would have been waiting. It is more that… maybe nothing would have changed."

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning— had I gone to the right, had I not Fallen… I might still be fluttering about with my head in the clouds and a harp in my hands."

"I hardly think you'd have enjoyed yourself as much, ultimately."

"I have always preferred the violin."

"And temptation, and trickery, and tomfoolery. Really, it is a wonder you remained an angel as long as you did."

"Perhaps I restrained myself out of affection and respect. Perhaps I wished to remain by someone's side."

"But you were unable, in the end. You ultimately failed."

"I Fell, if that is what you mean."

"Is that your regret, then? To have Fallen? To have been separated from… that someone?"

"There are no regrets. Not anymore. I do not _regret_ anything. These are merely ponderings. What-ifs, if you would."

"Ah. Well, then. Allow me to put your mind at ease: you never had a choice from the start."

"…I beg your pardon?"

"You never had a choice. There was never any 'right' for you to take. There was only the illusion of 'right,' of a path with twists and turns. Surely you, you of all creatures, would be aware of this? There may be ups and downs, but all beings have only one course, one fate. This has always been your destiny. This is what Our Father Above wished for you."

"God wished for me to seduce and sup on countless mortals, to steal a ridiculous number of souls, to fall ridiculously in love with the most stubborn of the lot, to break laws and Contracts to be with him, to let myself get knocked up, and then to wither into ethereal nothingness while I eat my weight in the dairy-based desserts of humankind?"

"…apparently."

"Seems oddly specific."

"Our Lord works in mysterious ways."

"No more so than you."

"Or you. You'll not believe what I Saw today."

"Oh? Do tell."

"It seems you will be appointing me the godparent of your children."

"Hmm. That would be rather cruel of me. Considering— had I gone to the right— I may have instead granted you the role of father."

"As I said. There was never a 'right.'"

"Then I guess you never really had a chance."

"Not against Ciel, no."

"Aw. Well, don't beat yourself up about it. I never had a chance, either. Not after meeting him…"

"In light of that, then, I believe it would be only fair to grant me the role of godparent."

"Do you, now? Well, if there is no such thing as 'left' or 'right,' then certainly there is no such thing as 'fair.'"

"Fair enough. …no pun intended. A new tactic, then. Certainly you cannot argue the existence of parental instincts. Do you not wish to offer your children the best protection and guardianship available?"

"There _is_ something deliciously ironic about the idea of demonlings having a guardian angel."

"And I would be willing to bet you have already addicted them to the taste of Heaven."

"Oh? Do you taste of vanilla and marshmallows and chocolate, then?"

"You would know."

"…touché."

"Careful, or soon your cheeks shall match your eyes."

"Or your blood on my fist. So long as I've color coordinated in some capacity."

"I would rather you restrained from punching me in the face, as I would be forced to turn the other cheek. However, should you find yourself unable to resist that temptation, perhaps I'd join you in a cone, myself."

"Oh? Were you thinking of ordering something, too?"

"I was considering a small scoop of Devil's Food ice cream, yes. Since it seems likely you will soon be making me bleed."

"Any reason for choosing that flavor?"

"Nostalgia. For the taste of blood and sugar. You were always a biter."

"…"

"—ow."

"Best order that ice cream, then."

"Already done. I purchased it before approaching you, in fact. Ah—see? There. It is waiting for me at the counter."

"That's omnipotence for you."

"No. I just know you very well."

"Don't be cheeky. It's been millennia since we've last truly spoken; you hardly know—! Oh—"

"Ha. You have not changed nearly as much as you seem to think. For example, you are still a messy eater."

"…I am not going to thank you for the napkins."

"How about for saving you a stain on your shirt?"

"No. I am going to be rude and say nothing of the sort. I need the extra tallies for this month's quota."

"I suppose it is difficult to be evil when one is generally stuck at home watching My Little Pony."

"At least I can pirate it."

"If only Hasbro cared…"

"Yes, well. I promised Ciel I would stay indoors as much as possible while he was away. He worries about me… and does not seem to think I am capable of properly disguising myself for protection."

"Considering your track record, I can hardly blame him."

"I know what I'm doing!"

"A top hat does not a clever disguise make. Not then, and certainly not now."

"Which is why I don't use my top hat anymore. Besides, I could hardly pass as a man, in my current condition. So instead…"

"Lilith would be thrilled. I hear imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"I assure you, it is not intentional. This is just what I look like with longer hair. And breasts."

"Your daughter will be beautiful."

"Sincere or not, flattery will get _you_ nowhere."

"And just where do you think I am trying to go?"

"Perhaps back to my place."

"Only to lead you there. Ciel is right—you should not be out like this for long periods. Particularly not when so hungry."

"What do you think the pint of ice cream is for?"

"Bittersweet though nostalgia is, it is not what you truly wish to eat."

"…"

"When will Ciel return?"

"On the equinox."

"That is still some time in the future. Surely you will require sustenance prior to—"

"I am fine."

"…if that is so, why are you crying?"

"I am not crying."

"Then your eyes must have sustained a puncture and are now leaking."

"Don't be absurd…"

"What is the matter? Are you in pain?"

"…yes."

"What sort of pain? Does your stomach hurt? Am I too close?"

"No. It feels… _I_ feel… empty."

"…"

"Ironic for someone lugging around unborn twins, I know."

"No, I understand. It is difficult to be separated from a loved one. It can feel as if your heart has been removed from your chest."

"Have you ever felt that way before?"

"…yes. Once, my heart Fell a long, long way from me."

"…oh."

"If only I had been able to gorge myself on copious amounts of ice cream in order to dull the ache and fill the void."

"…are you mocking me?"

"No. I am expressing jealousy. This is actually quite good. Is your favorite flavor Heaven, then?"

"I suppose…"

"What is Ciel's favorite?"

"Zanzibar."

"Oh? How odd. It seems they packed my sugar cone with that very flavor. A pity I am not a fan of such rich chocolate. Would you like it, then?"

"…"

"Come, now. If you weep on it, I am sure it will taste of nostalgia, as well."

"…"

"There we are… Very good. Ah, don't drip on yourself—use your napkin."

"…this time, I _will_ thank you."

"Really?"

" _Only_ this time."

"Of course. In any case, you are welcome."

"…"

"…yes? Is there something on my face?"

"A smile."

"Is that bad?"

"…it confuses me a little."

"Perhaps being with you makes me happy."

"I think you just like watching me cry. Schadenfreude and all of that."

"Oh my. That would not be very nice of me."

"You were never very nice."

"No?"

"…no… you're far too kind to be nice."

"Well, no one is perfect."

"I don't know, that Jesus-fellow seemed decent. Do you think _he'd_ be willing to play godparent?"

"Oh, is perfection a requirement for the position?"

"Only the best for my babies."

"Surely you wouldn't wish for a godparent who would outshine you and Ciel."

"Hmm, good point. There goes that idea."

"It was a fine one while it lasted."

"Can you think of anyone else qualified for the job?"

"Can I submit my name a second time?"

"So pushy."

"I am not as skilled as you in the art if subtle seduction. Not when it comes to achieve my goals."

"Clearly. Well, since you did give me ice cream, I imagine the least I can do is give you a proper interview."

"You are most gracious."

"Sarcasm will get you nowhere."

"It has always seemed to work well for you…?"

"Because I know how to use it. I know what I am doing _when_ I use it."

"Of course. Likewise, I know what I am doing when it comes to caring for the young, and to watching over them. I have had a few epochs of experience. Should you like to see my resume, it is a number of scrolls long."

"That won't be necessary. I am well aware of your work."

"Have you found it satisfactory?"

"Difficult to say. As I recall, you did lose sight of one very important soul…"

"Hardly. I simply transferred it to its proper guardian, when the time came."

"Indeed. Well, let's see what said soul has to say on the subject, shall we?"

"…might I ask what you are doing?"

"Texting Ciel."

"He will only ask what I am doing out of the bathroom."

"Ha. He _is_ fond of locking you in there."

"I am continually grateful for the stockpile of magazines you keep beside the toilet."

"It is how he shows affection."

"I can believe it. You two _are_ notorious for spending long periods of time in bathroom stalls."

"Love blossoms in bathrooms. Much like mold. Or ringworm infestations."

"…it is so _very_ hard to believe that Hallmark fired you."

"What did I tell you about sarcasm?"

"I apologize."

_I don't want another pretty face, I don't want just anyone to hold! I don't want my love to go to waste— I want you and your beautiful soul!_

"…a very classy text-tone, little one."

"I thought it appropriate."

"…well? What did Ciel say?"

"...he wants to know what you are doing out of the bathroom."

"If you will forgive a moment of immaturity: called it."

"Quiet. He further added that he did not initially appreciate how you treated him at the age of ten."

"'Initially?'"

"He says he has since realized that maybe you knew what you were doing, since it was through your apparent negligence that he and I met."

"That would stand to follow, hm? And so, his verdict?"

"Oh… Do I even really need to tell you? You've known since the beginning. I hate giving you another reason to gloat."

"It would still be nice to hear it from you, yes. Nice to be asked."

"Fine. Would you consider being the godparent of my children, Uriel?"

"Hmm. This is rather sudden. I will have to think about it."

"…you're kidding, yes?"

"Yes."

"Both your jokes and your sarcasm need work."

"Do they? I will work on them, then."

"…you don't have to."

"No?"

"No. The world is sarcastic and stupid enough as it is. I'd rather the children learned your sincerity and passion. You can leave the more distasteful traits to those of us born to perpetuate them."

"Traits such as gluttony?"

"I figure gluttony is more child-friendly than lust."

"Your father will be disappointed to hear that he has to wait his turn."

"Undoubtedly. But I am sure he will be a staple in their lives during their teenage years."

"…you look a trifle sick. Too much ice cream?"

"…yeeeah. Let's go with that."

"Perhaps you should relinquish the spoon, then."

"Not a chance. Gluttony, remember? I need to brush up on the Sin myself, if I wish to be a respectable teacher. These ice cream trips are not stopping any time soon."

"It is a good thing children enjoy ice cream, then."

"Children and angels, apparently."

"Oh yes. Next time we come, I will try Heavenly Hash."

" _We_?"

"Yes, we. Gluttony aside, Ciel would not appreciate it if I allowed you to come alone, and I would rather not take any risks, myself. Especially not when you are carrying my godchildren. Besides, I am a guardian angel. Guarding is what I do."

"And by 'guard' you mean 'stalk.'"

"Hmmm, 'stalking angel' does not have quite the same ring to it. Different connotation."

"I will grant you that. It certainly doesn't make me feel safe."

"And do you not feel safe with me?"

"I suppose I feel safe enough."

"Then for the sake of those who worry about you, and for the sake of the children you carry, would you please allow me the honor of joining you for ice cream, next time the urge strikes you?"

"You just want a chance to try Heavenly Hash."

"…that had crossed my mind, yes."

"Gluttony is at work already…"

"I will just have a single scoop."

"You could buy some on your own, you know. At the market."

"Food tastes sweeter when shared."

"In general, I am not a fan of overly sweet foods."

"…"

"…however… I guess a bit of company… might be nice."

"Company has fewer calories, certainly."

"For the love of— I am _not_ fat!"

"Of course not."

**XXX**


	6. Sensations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian learns something new about unborn babies.

**Disclaimer:** HAHAHAHA. HA.

 **Author's Note:** Another silly idea inspired by the "Did You Know" tumblr blog.

 **Warnings:** Part of "Bicentennial"/"666"… rather obviously. XD M!preg and derp and more lemon-flavoring than usual. A small celebration of our reaching chapter 69, haha. (I'm so mature.) Mentions of OCs. SebaCiel.

**XXX**

**Sensations**

**XXX**

Devils, of course, didn't really need to wear glasses.

Like most things about their corporeal forms, a demon's eyesight was perfect; should they wish, they could count the corners of a snowflake, the faucets of a salt grain, or even locate a politician's single shred of dignity. (Well, on a good day. If the conditions were right.) But if there was one thing that decades of existence had made quite clear, it was that fashion and practicality rarely walked hand in hand. (A point epitomized in the fanny pack, claimed Ciel.) That said, everyone had their own small indulgences; though he wasn't as grievous an offender as his younger brother, Sebastian had always had a weakness for a good pair of spectacles. He fancied that they made him look sharper, Ciel knew— smarter and suave, and gave him something to fiddle with when posing pretentious questions or composing witty retorts. Sebastian liked to say that there was something classic about a good pair of glasses… Neon spandex and grungy sweaters might come and go, but eyewear was here to stay. Both metaphorically and literally, in this case: the once-butler had gone through a number of pairs since their lifetime in London, and had recently settled on a new set for reading. They had half-moon lenses framed by silver wires, and he would perch the useless things delicately on the bridge of his nose whenever he'd peruse his weeklies in bed. _Us, Entertainment—_ anything featuring George Clooney. He also had a penchant for baking publications and (as of late) parenting periodicals…

Or, at least, he had. But much like the glasses themselves, Sebastian had seemingly abandoned the papers tonight, claiming that the former was giving him a headache, and that the latter wasn't improving his condition. Instead, he'd taken to resting against the headboard of their bed— slouched rather broodingly—, his brow wrinkling in thought as he twiddled his fingers atop his exposed stomach. For a time, Ciel watched his husband worriedly over the rims of the aforementioned spectacles (hey, if _Sebastian_ didn't want to wear them…), puncturing the silence with little more than the crinkling of his own reading. But soon, even Sebastian's erotic cooking magazine wasn't able to distract him from his lover's near-palpable anxiety. (There was only so-much interest Ciel could muster, anyway, for adverts like " _Cool Whip—The Best in Refrigerated S &M Material_" and " _I Can't Believe It's Not Butt_.")

With a sigh and a smile, the younger demon tossed the trash rag aside—nearly taking out the lamp on the nightstand as he did so. As the lights literally wavered, Ciel turned his full attention upon his bothered butler, wordlessly offering all manner of comfort. Lashes lowering on sultry eyes, he slipped his fingers over Sebastian's tensed arm, kneading and massaging from shoulder to chest… The elder shivered, but otherwise did not react; such stubbornness earned a smirk and a hum from his husband. It was of no matter—this wasn't the first time that Sebastian had played hard-to-get, after all. With another amused chuckle, Ciel shuffled closer to his companion: undulating lightly against his side as he peppered that strong jawline with kisses, tongue peeking out to teasingly trace the shell of an ear—

"P- please. No."

—only to freeze clumsily in surprise. Downy coverlets and loose sweat pants rustled; Sebastian squirmed uncomfortably, leaning bodily away from Ciel. The retreat was so swift, so sudden, Ciel had no time to prepare for it; jostled, the younger creature slipped from his place against the other's broad shoulders with a near-comical squeak, falling face-first into his husband's lap. Which, all things considered, was the exact opposite of what Sebastian desired, right then. A moan of surprise caught in the elder's throat as his lover floundered—hands flailing and breath heavy as he attempted to relocate his bearings. When his head finally popped back up with a pant and a glower, Ciel decided that he was doubly-glad that he'd earlier put on Sebastian's glasses, for they now gave him something to whip off in a dramatic display of confusion and ire.

"What the hell, Sebastian?" the not-boy spat, bottom lip protruded and forehead puckered in his own brand of unease. Had he just been rebuffed? _Denied?_ That—that wasn't right. Ciel couldn't remember the last time he'd been rejected; usually, he was the one who had to push _Sebastian_ away. What had he done wrong? Had he offended? Was Sebastian angry? The once-earl's face was soon alight with humiliation and apprehension; Sebastian returned the colored expression, visibly ruffled, as his eyes darted nervously to the right. "What's the matter? What's gotten into you?"

"What's gotten…?" The echo of his husband's final demand trailed off, fading into a soft snort of embarrassment; Sebastian hesitated, his gaze flickering back to meet Ciel's. "Well… _babies_ have gotten into me," he then awkwardly explained, taking his companion's hands in his own and pressing their palms against his belly. It had only been a few weeks since his initial announcement, but already he'd gained a modest swell: a gentle but notable bump where a flat abdomen used to be. The sight of the lump and the warmth it exuded was still enough to make the younger demon's heart flutter with excitement, foreboding, and affection; the swirl of sweet emotions calmed the vexation in Ciel's heart as he turned his attentions back upon Sebastian. Sebastian, who was still pink-faced from flustering thoughts— fingers twitching with tension as he regarded his master and the manifestation of their union. "And… well, it's not that your proposition does not interest me, little one, but… but the magazine I was reading said that fetuses can feel it when their mothers orgasm, and that just doesn't seem like an appropriate thing to expose ones so young to."

"…"

For a long moment, there was silence. Sebastian's alabaster skin turned a deep burgundy as mortification mounted; Ciel's stare dulled, but remained steady. It took a few minutes, but eventually the younger of the two managed to sort this statement out in his head, and extract from it the truth.

"…you're still in love with that angel, aren't you? That's the issue, isn't it? You just don't want me anymore."

" _What_? No!" Looking wounded, now—as well as shocked; wasn't the _pregnant_ person supposed to be the overemotional one?—, Sebastian frantically shook his head, moving one hand to gesture wildly at the bed stand that Ciel had so-recently assaulted. " _No_ , it's really what the magazine said—you can look, it's right there underneath the copy of _Oral Fixations_ that you tossed!"

Looking dangerously unconvinced, Ciel flashed his lover a frown before shifting his weight—readjusting himself on his haunches so as to do just that. Leaning over to the left, he pushed his previous readings aside to double-check Sebastian's; after a brief perusal, he was satisfied by the superficial facts… but still not overly convinced by his husband's claims.

"Well… I guess it _does_ say that," he reluctantly assented, before twisting back 'round to again face the once-servant. Still grousing, Ciel nevertheless returned not only to his lover, but to his lap: swinging one leg over Sebastian's sprawled waist and settling pointedly down atop flared hips. His face was still pinched in a pout, and his arms looped imperially over his chest, but he was at least willing to listen. "But don't think I believe for a second that _that's_ the reason you don't want to have sex. You're too much of an instable horn-dog to let a silly fact like that deter you. For Satan's sake, your parents rule the Second Circle; you were born and raised on lust. Why on Earth would you expect me to believe something so _inane_ and _stupid_ and… and… damn all that is holy— that really _is_ the reason, isn't it?"

Voice falling flatter and flatter the longer he spoke, Ciel's arms dropped heavily—nostrils flaring in incredulity— as he regarded his blushing, bumbling beau. Demons couldn't lie, and Sebastian's expressions had rarely been more honest: cheeks stained magenta as his features contorted, trying to act obstinate but really only looking embarrassed. For a time, Ciel could merely gawk in astonishment… But soon he was giggling, a small smile toying with his mouth. He tried to hide it with a hand when Sebastian's mope darkened into a sulk, but it was too late; instead, he apologized by dipping low to press a kiss against his husband's unusually-warm cheek.

"You're an idiot," Ciel then murmured affectionately, the laughter in his voice only becoming more pronounced when Sebastian scoffed. ("Says the fledgling who thinks I'm still in love with _Uriel_ …") "No, really. You're adorable, but you're an idiot. We're _devils_. The babies are going to be devils, too—personifications of all which is Evil and Sinful. Feeling a bit of pleasure now is hardly going to corrupt them. And it's not like they're going to remember it. Right…?" While the ginger goads and airy taunts did not seem to convince Sebastian entirely, it was clear that they were having _some_ effect: as he listened, the elder of the two shuffled and mused, gaze wandering in thought… Wandering _down_ , and staying _down_ , a hint of longing in their auburn depths as slender fingers flexed and clenched. It was a development that certainly did not go unnoticed; Ciel's blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he loosely laced his arms around Sebastian's neck, his grin gaining a feral edge. "…shall I prove it to you?"

…what? _Prove_ it to him? But— "How—? _Ah_ —!" Sebastian gasped, his innocent inquiry cut off by a hiss of carnal pleasure as his husband gave his clothed hips an idle roll, grinding against his lover. Ciel breathed a husky chortle in response, the heat of it tickling against Sebastian's ear and sending shivers down his stiffened spine. Instinctively, the elder demon gulped, shifting as if to stop his partner— " _Nnn…!_ " – but instead succumbed to a groan, slipping further down the headboard, as the movement merely increased the friction between them. "C-Ciel, I d-don't think… _Oh_ —!"

Ciel's leer widened by teeth, hooded eyes glittering in the rosy lamplight. "Shhh," he purred, fingers coiling tightly around the bars of the headboard. Additional leverage garnered, his efforts increased tenfold. Nuzzling his head against the crook of Sebastian's neck, the fledgling suckled tender skin and nipped fleshy earlobes, thrilling as his lover's pants and whimpers escalated in volume and intensity. "It's okay," he sensually soothed, licentious sounds catching in his own throat. "I just… want to make you feel _good…_ You _and_ the babies…"

" _Mmngh_ — Ciel, p- please—!" Sebastian began to protest, but soon cut himself off with a wanton whine; his body wasn't built to resist temptation, especially when temptation was thrusting shamelessly against his crotch. Pointed, perfect, precise— each movement teasing him _just_ where he most loved and loathed being teased. Before long, Sebastian could feel his toes curling in the sheets, lanky arms winding tightly around his husband as the not-boy above dry humped him to ecstasy. "I c-can't— ca-ah— _ah—! AH—!_ "

The elder demon shuddered violently, electric spasms shooting up and down each limb; Ciel's lips quirked into a victorious smile as his makeshift seat grew damp. Stilling himself atop Sebastian's hips, the demonling hummed with pleasure and leaned forward to capture another kiss, cradling his husband's damp face in his hands. Unsurprisingly, Sebastian's blush had only intensified; oddly, though, his scowl had done the same.

"…that wasn't… very nice of you," he hoarsely rasped against Ciel's smug mouth, even as he brushed tender kisses against those lips. Even as he reached out to cradle his lover, palms groping and sliding up his bony back. "I t-told you… the babies… and—and how did that prove _anything_?" he demanded in afterthought, gruff of tone and growling in frustration. The once-earl's cheerful grin did nothing to mollify him, either; it was clear that he felt utterly unperturbed by the coarse curtness of his husband's voice.

"When they're born, you can ask them if they remember that. Obviously," Ciel easily explained, his sickeningly sweet simper only growing more and more mocking as Sebastian's expression darkened in exasperation. "That'll prove my point."

"What th—? They'll be _babies_ —they won't understand the question, let alone be able to answer!"

"Well, exactly," Ciel retorted, shrugging off Sebastian's venomous disapproval. A temper tantrum was a temper tantrum, and he refused to pander to one. "They _won't_ _understand_. Not what we just did, not what you might ask. Even if they somehow managed to retain _prenatal_ memories, they'd just be of darkness and you making funny noises… But you do that most of the time, anyway."

"Hey now."

"I can't believe I have to remind you of this, but sex is just another part of life, Sebastian," Ciel continued blandly, brushing a few of his miffed lover's stray, sweat-matted forelocks behind his ears. "Sure, we'll need to shield them from it for a while after they're born, but it's nothing to be innately ashamed of. For now, they've got no idea what we're doing… They're just getting a taste of your happy endorphins when they're released. It's good for them. Babies need happy endorphins just as much as you do. Besides, you know as well as I do that your libido has only increased, recently, and that the damage has been long-since done. What good would stopping now do, besides make you all frustrated and grumpy? Besides," he persisted as he playfully traced the ridges of Sebastian's lean muscles, a finger stroking downward as if to add a tally to an invisible roster, "do you _really_ think that the information you found stops anyone else? Do you think it's genuinely _corrupted_ anyone else? I mean, look at _your_ parents—do you honestly believe that they ever stopped screwing? Do you think that all of the pheromones they constantly secrete would _allow_ them to?"

…well, when he put it _that_ way…

"I… I suppose… no," Sebastian begrudgingly confessed, the knots in his brow and his frown gradually loosening—though he _was_ feeling increasingly idiotic, "But— look at how _I_ turned out! Like you said. I'm insatiable."

"You're a demon from the Lust sect!" Ciel reminded with a genuine laugh, rolling his eyes before tenderly resting his forehead against his lover's. "And you're perfect," he countered reverentially, voice rich with love and sincerity. The compliment caught Sebastian entirely off-guard; even after so many centuries together, Ciel had never been one to utilize much flattery. The pink glow plastered upon Sebastian's cheeks shone brightly for a new reason entirely, and more of those aforementioned "happy endorphins" flooded his system. He wasn't the only one; the not-boy derived nearly as much pleasure simply from seeing Sebastian looking so touched. Blushing himself, he nipped the tip of the other's nose and concluded, "So don't worry about it so much. And even if—for some _very_ strange reason— you _do_ wind up being right… I, for one, would much rather have children who act like you than who act like me."

For an instant, the pair enjoyed a flash of memories: of England, and hissy fits, and arguments, and a 13-year-old nobleman who never-quite had his volatile temper under control.

Both shuddered.

"Hmmm… Yes, you _are_ something of a brat," Sebastian then agreed with a lazy smirk, chuckling when Ciel retaliated with a brisk slap to his shoulder. "Ow! Why are you angry? I am just agreeing with you."

"Jerk," the not-boy returned, though without much poison. Instead, he chose to act peeved, cocking his chin and crossing his arms and casting his servant a sidelong stare, deviant with glints of mischief. "Keep acting like that, and I won't bother cleaning you up."

"Oh, were you going to be a dear and fetch me a washcloth?" Sebastian asked, voice thick with amusement as he ran possessive, svelte hands over his master's sensitive sides. Ciel huffed in response, trying to appear flippant and dismissive.

"I _was_ considering offering you the services of my tongu—" the once-earl began—

"I am _ever_ so sorry for calling you names."

—before being swiftly cut-off by the most sobering of apologies.

"Oh? Are you?"

"I am," Sebastian professed, features somber with sincerity for all of a second before brightening beautifully in wordless hope. He even donned a set of puppy-dog eyes… Oddly appropriate, considering his namesake. But oh, he didn't care if he looked desperate or foolish— it was well-worth swallowing his pride if it meant that his husband would soon be… well, swallowing. He did so enjoy the things that Ciel could do with his tongue. "I am sorry. So sorry. Very sorry. Forever sorry. I will sing 'Sorry Sorry' by Super Junior if you want me to. Or at least the refrain. _Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, naega, naega, naega, meonjeo_ ~"

"Pft," Ciel snickered, eyes soft with the warmth of his laughter as he gave his body a taunting twist, shifting so that he could shuffle damp trousers down Sebastian's long legs. The bunched fabric was soon tossed gracefully aside, joining the previously-discarded (and equally-unnecessary) glasses that had been left upon the floor. (So pointless, really. All of it.) "Sounds like _someone_ has had a change of heart. Rather rapidly."

"I needed something to match my inevitable change of pants," the elder demon returned, tugging on the hem of Ciel's slacks, himself. Another layer discarded; mismatched bodies aligned, twitching with delicious anticipation.

"So you feel better, then— _nnn_ …"

"I fe— _O-oh—…!_ — f-feel much better, ye— _yes!_ "

"Glad to hear it," the demonling purred, before all conversation gave way to "funny noises."

**XXX**


	7. He Got Fooled Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We'll be fighting in the streets / With our children at our feet / Something-something-something / Aw yeaaaaaaaah

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

 **Author's Note:** Lately I've been responding to a lot of fic-requests that appear in my tumblr inbox, and then posting them on my fanfic pages afterwards. Here's one of 'em now. :3

 **Warnings:** SebCiel, early-"666." Part of the "Bicentennial" series. Derp. Thank you, Alex, for helping me with the title. XD

**Submission:** _I'm currently a very late bloomer in learning to drive (which is a severe blow to the ego), so I keep wondering what it would be like to see Ciel learning to drive for the first time. I know in BI they live in New York so it's basically senseless for them to drive, but surely its come up? Who is worse at driving, Sebastian or Ciel?_

I found this request kind of funny, to be honest, 'cause I'm currently working on the next full-length Bi-fic and Sebastian spends the first scene of it being a trash driver. 8D; So good timing, anon, haha. ;3

**XXX**

**He Got Fooled Again**

**XXX**

"Pull over."

With a startled jolt, Ciel threw his husband- well, "wife," as they were on their way to see the OB/GYN- a concerned glance, hands clenching tightly around the steering wheel. "Are you going to throw up?" he asked in sympathy, moving to do as the other had requested-

But then froze with a scowl when Sebastian leveled him a very wry glance, one hand splayed protectively over the swell of his belly and the other clutching desperately to the grip above the window. "No, I'm going to hijack this vehicle," he retorted, expression flat and fully serious. "This stop-and-go-and-almost-hit-the-car-ahead-of-us nonsense you call driving has managed to flip-flop all of my insides. I can feel my stomach in my throat as we speak." His master may have altered his image so that he could reach the pedals, but he still drove like a 13-year-old who'd stolen his father's Vantage on a dare. And that was a _generous_ description of his abilities.

Ciel scoffed, lip curling and nose scrunching. _Drama queen,_ he thought, as if he'd somehow managed to hear Sebastian's mental assessment.

"If all of your insides have flip-flopped and your stomach's in your throat, your vocal cords must now be in your ass, because you're speaking out of it," he snapped in (long-winded) reply, twisting them violently back onto the freeway. The wheels screeched in protest; other cars and drivers hailed their return into traffic with ear-shattering honks and a barrage of colorful language. "My driving is perfectly _fine._ Especially considering it's my first time."

As if in emphasis, Ciel stamped on the breaks with inhuman force; the front of the car ground to an immediate halt while the back popped up like a bucking steed. Just as it did before every stoplight, stop sign, or bumper. _Iron horses, indeed_ , mused the once-earl. _I can master these monsters_. It would simply take time, skill, and a proper show of power- like it did when taming any creature.

Looking smug and feeling superior, Ciel cast his demon another sidelong glance, arching a brow as if to say _see? See? I know what I'm doing._ But despite what he'd earlier claimed, Sebastian was starting to look a bit green... The once-boy's features softened as he scrutinized his lover's twisting countenance; his own innards knotted in pains of empathy when Sebastian clamped a hand over his mouth and began to groan- half scrambling for the window lever as he did so.

"Ciel, I think I'm going to-!"

The car was already careening to the left, almost _rolling_ onto the shoulder of the road. Gravel crunched, metal shrieked; a door slammed open even before they'd come to a complete stop. Without missing a beat, Ciel was hopping out- dashing over to Sebastian's side to help him from his seat, if necessary. But by the time he'd managed to wrench open the passenger-side door...

"...using morning sickness is cheating," Ciel drawled, brow ticking as he shot his servant an irritated glower. Already having managed to maneuver into the driver's seat, Sebastian- looking very much the picture of perfect health- merely shrugged, flicking on and fiddling with the radio.

"A mother does whatever he needs to in order to protect his babies' from being killed by their sire's reckless driving," he informed, giving his little bump a ginger pat as Ciel climbed begrudgingly back into the car.

"Oh?" The not-boy snorted, allowing his form to morph back into that of a pouting teenager. As he shifted bodies, his husband shifted gears, easing them onto the road again. (Where cars and other drivers greeted them with significantly _less_ screeching/honking/screaming, but it _was_ New York.) "Does that mean _you'll_ be the Mama when they're born?"

"Ha." Sebastian smirked, slipping on a pair of sunglasses. "No."

As if he'd planned this, the _CSI: Miami_ opening began to play.

**XXX**


End file.
